


Dangerous Waters

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bodice-Ripper, Bondage, Child Abuse, Gentleman Sam, High Seas, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pirate Dean, Pirates, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Torture, dark evilish john for plot reasons, dark themes, lord Sam, trouser-ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 128,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two decades ago, Dean Winchester was betrayed and left for dead by his own father. Now, the so-called Pirate King is poised to take revenge on the father who cast him out, and the brother who took his rightful place and has been living the high life. When Sam Winchester sets sail to collect a bride that he does not want, his journey is cut short and he finds himself at the mercy of a hard, bastard of a pirate who hates him and orders him to his bed. Inexplicably drawn to this mercurial and sometimes cruel man who holds the power of life or death over him, Sam walks a dangerous tightrope using everything in his arsenal to convince Dean to change course and see him as partner and ally rather than as his pawn and victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=wgqfpx)  
>  Our thanks to smut-slut for the banner art
> 
> Co-written with Brimstonegold
> 
> PIRATE MUSIC THAT GOES WITH THE FIC: http://grooveshark.com/playlist/Pirate+Music/58468847
> 
> THE MUSIC PLAYER IS GONE SO HERE IS A RECREATION WITH LINKS TO YOUTUBE
> 
> Prologue - He's a Pirate - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUnrWo6z9WY
> 
> Ch. 2 - The Kraken - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eN5ExwsXUiQ
> 
> Ch. 5 - Wednesday Mourn - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj_qgDGY_2E
> 
> Ch. 8 - Drunken Sailor - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGyPuey-1Jw
> 
> Ch. 9 - The Gay Pirate Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHrJreMF1KU
> 
> Ch. 12 - Barretts Privateers - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4E45ee-1gMs
> 
> Ch. 13 - Barque In The Harbor - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUYpCHhQAzo
> 
> Cha. 14 - Where The Sky Begins - by the Minstrels - can't find it on youtube

Prologue _9th of July, Year of our Lord, 1708_

_After our successful venture three days ago, spirits remain high. The cache of gold and silver coins and nuggets was shared and the three maimed crewmen have been set ashore with sufficient funds to see them to their old age if they don't fall prey to their old ways of spending every half penny in their pockets. The bolts of fine silk that were acquired are in the hold and shall be sold at the next friendly port. Our food stores will soon require replenishment and the sale of the silk will offset the costs. The Vengeance had taken some minor hull damage which should be fully repaired in the next few days. In short, the lady of good fortune has been smiling up on us this month._

Dean put the quill pen back into its stand and after letting the ink dry, closed his journal, pushing it to its place on the large desk. From his quarters on the upper deck, he could hear the crew's raucous laughter and the music coming from the main deck. If he stood up and looked out the line of narrow windows that a shorter man might have trouble seeing from, he knew he'd see the men drinking and dancing. That included the handful of women they had along with them. Two were crew and the other three were wives or doxies. He didn't hold by the superstition that women were bad luck and so far, he hadn't been proven altogether wrong as they hadn't suffered an extraordinary number of reversals of fortune upon taking any of them on. So long as the non-crew wives agreed to share their men's hammocks and food allotments, or to work for more and did not create trouble, they were allowed on board.

The gentle rolling of the ship, and the familiar soft creaking sounds from wood and the ropes binding them together eased the last remaining tensions of the long day. Pouring some rum into a glass and giving the aromatic liquid an appreciative sniff, the Captain pushed his comfortable chair back and put a booted foot onto the desk. 

Unfolding The Lawrence Gazette, he took a drink and started to read. It was more than just an old habit, keeping up with the goings on at his birth place on the coast of New England. As always, he searched for news of the Royal Governor, his dear father. Too often the paper described the social events that John Winchester and his _family_ hosted or went to. That usually had Dean's jaw tightening until he was in danger of cracking his teeth, but once in a while, there would be a gem. An opportunity to get back at the bastard. The follow up articles about the 'Winchester bad luck' always made Dean chuckle, but never with any mirth.

Turning the page, he read about the measures that were being considered to keep shipping lanes more safe. That had him giving a snort of disbelief, but he took note of the forces that might come into play. Unconsciously, he was nodding to the beat of the music as he continued to read. When he reached the last page of the paper, he started to skim quickly down over the announcements but the name Winchester registered, and he looked back up.

 _Lord Winchester, Governor of Lawrence, announces the betrothal of his son, Lord Samuel Winchester, to Miss Elizabeth Peden._

Reading between the lines, he gathered that his brother was entering a mariage de convenance and would be collecting his bride to be from England. His lips pressed into a flat line at the thought of Samuel, in his finery, dancing and making merry, without a thought for the mother he'd killed and the brother whose life he'd stolen. Dean's eyes turned to flint as the past came rushing back.

_Dean hung over the crib, teasing his eight month old brother with a silver rattle. His own eyes were red with days of crying but he smiled at Sam. "It's alright. Promised mom I'd take care of you, and I will. Cause I'm your big brother, and that's what brothers do. You want this? You want this Sammy?" He shook it again, then let the baby catch it, holding onto it and making Sam fight for it before releasing it._

_The door to the nursery opened and a woman walked in. "Master Dean."_

_Slipping off the side of the crib, Dean turned and looked at their nanny. Her hair was pulled back and she looked paler than usual in the black mourning clothes that she'd been wearing for the past fortnight. "I wasn't annoying him," he said quickly._

_She gave a bleak smile and gestured from him to come over to her. When he did, she stroked his face. "Lord Winchester is asking for you. He's in the study. Whatever he says, agree with him child. He is in a foul mood."_

_Giving her a nod, he walked out of the room and headed down the wide hall. His home looked different with all signs of color having been removed and all of the large mirrors covered with black velvet. Everyone wore only somber colors, colors his mother would have hated. He passed the large sitting room and went past the parlor, his steps slowing a little. He knew from the servants that his father had been drinking, that he hadn't stopped since the burial. John Winchester was a cruel man when he was in his cups and the only one who could control him had been Dean's mother, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd been bedridden since she gave birth to Sammy and had never recovered._

_When he reached the elaborately carved double doors, he straightened his clothes and spit on his hands, then flattened his hair. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked inside. "Father?"_

_Sitting behind the enormous desk, his father looked up and stared at him through blood shot eyes. Dean took another few steps and then gripped the back of a chair. The look of pure hate pierced through him and had Dean flinching in surprise. He wished his father would say something. Anything._

_*_

_Dean didn't know why his father had brought him here, to this rude part of town. He didn't like the man who'd let them into the warehouse and lead them up the stairs to his living quarters. He did as he was told and went to the other room and closed the door, but pressed his ear against it, listening to the whispers and only half understanding them._

_"I don't care how he's disposed of." Lord Winchester put a stack of coins onto the dirty table and wiped his hand on his jacket._

_"Your Lordship?"_

_"He bears the mark of the devil and has brought bad luck upon my family. I want him gone. I don't care where. Whip the devil out of him then take him far, give him away, sell him, or drown him. I--"_

_Bursting through the door, Dean headed for his father. It had to be a joke. But the heavy hand that struck him and the blinding pain in his jaw that sent him into the arms of darkness proved him wrong._

__

Blinking, Dean imagined he felt the sting of every whipping he'd taken over the years. The burning pain from each time he'd been knifed and nearly killed. The panic from lack of air from being pushed under the water, from being made to crawl into chimneys to clean them, from playing human target for sportsman who wanted a new type of 'game.' His father had thought to have the devil whipped out of him? He'd created one instead. One who had all the time in the world to play with Lord Winchester, to hit him where it hurt financially, and now to take aim at his one and only heir.

Getting up abruptly, Dean crossed the large room and grabbed his hat from behind the lacquered panels that divided the sleeping area of his quarters from the rest. Putting it on, he walked out and headed down the outdoor stairs, roaring for his Quartermaster. "Rufus!"

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Chapter 1

Samuel Winchester stood on the deck of Destiny, the tall ship carrying him toward England. They'd left port two days prior and a strong wind carried them eastward. Sam wished they were further south and could end up in the doldrums, with no wind and a glassy sea. Better that than the fate that awaited him.

He was going to England to collect one "Miss Elizabeth Peden" who would soon become "Lady Elizabeth." He had never met her, nor she him, not that it mattered. The Winchester family fortunes were depleted and the Pedens were well off. Miss Peden's dowry was quite a tidy sum and the union of Lord Winchester's shipping endeavors combined with the Pedens' contacts and distribution capabilities in England would lend to a profitable union for both families, or so his father hoped. His father had a long history of bad investment choices, many of his ships waylaid by pirates or struck by other misfortunes, so Sam was less than confident in the fact. He wondered glumly about Miss Peden's temperament. Due to the size of her dowry, he feared she might well be less than attractive, physically or in personality. He didn't suppose it mattered. He would do his duty as a husband, give her children to continue the Winchester lineage, and see that the family was never without. He could only hope she was intelligent and well read. It would be easier if he at least enjoyed her wit and company. Her looks were of little concern to him if she had a personality he found bearable or even pleasant. No doubt she had similar worries about him.

"Gabe! We need fresh rope up here!" one sailor yelled to another.

Sam clutched at the railing, his knuckles tightening until they were white. Gabriel... His eyes misted over, but he kept his face stoic. He was very good at doing that, he had had a great deal of practice around his father. He knew when to smile, when to bow, when to be charming. This was his own fault in so very many ways. He had never chosen a lady to court in Lawrence. Perhaps if he had, Gabriel would still be alive. 

He'd been about eleven when he and some other boys in his company were in a less than savory part of town and came across the brown haired lad of nine. Gabriel was obviously poor and alone on the streets, and the others circled 'round the young man, taunting him, then hitting him. Lord Winchester's carriage had come along then and Sam joined in with the rest in beating the boy. Sam had seen some measure of pride in his father's eyes that day when he climbed into the coach, even though he had discretely tossed the boy a few half-pennies as he left. Guilt ate at him though and a week later he went back to that section of town by himself. It took him some time, some hunting, but he finally found the boy. He had apologized for being a prick and an ass, and told the young boy there was a position in the stable open and that Sam would have him hired if he wanted it. Surprisingly, a week later Gabe had come to the manor and asked for him. They became fast friends after that. Gabriel had loved the horses and cats and dogs as much as Sam did, and initially was more than a little shocked when Sam helped him with his chores. Sam even made sure Gabe learned how to drive a coach. Everything had been wonderful until four months ago, when Sam's father came out to the stables unexpectedly.

Gabriel had died sometime during the night from the beating. Sam had only become presentable to be seen in public after a month or so of healing. He was not permitted to go anywhere unchaparoned, and often was forced to be at his father's side, 'learning the business,' or so Lord Winchester claimed, though Sam had spent much of his youth following his father around, traveling to England a handful of times, and knew the business as well if not better than his father. Now though, if his eyes ever wandered toward a man for whatever the reason, he was soundly cuffed. Even Mr. Cooper, his 'bodyguard,' was traveling with him to ensure Sam followed his father's wishes. Mr. Cooper was just as stern as his father and Sam had already suffered a blow or two from him in private. Sam wouldn't be at all saddened if the man took a mis-step on the deck and fell overboard. He had entertained the thought of reaching England and just leaving, heading off into the countryside to make his own way in the world. Unfortunately his father knew him too well and had threatened the welfare of some of his other friends among the servants if Sam did not return with Miss Peden. 

Sam had never hated his father, not until Gabriel's death. He could only take comfort that the old bastard couldn't live forever.

****

Black smoke rose from the deck of the Destiny now that the crew had doused the flames. The pirates had thrown thick ropes on deck and the two ships were tied together. The bloodshed had been to a minimum, though the deck was wet with crimson here and there and it was likely to get worse. A whole lot worse as more and more pirates crowded onto the merchant ship.

Captain Jackson wiped away the blood running from the corner of his mouth as two pirates stood guard behind him. Of all the pirate ships on the high seas, why did it have to be the Vengeance that they had fallen prey to? He straightened as his eyes scoured the faces of the scoundrels and ruffians, waiting for the "Pirate King" to make himself known. Rumors abounded as to what the man looked like, so the captain had no real idea what was truth and what was fiction. He could only pray the Pirate King was in a good enough mood to leave the ship sufficiently intact to sail and enough crew alive to sail her. 

Dean was already on board the Destiny, ordering his men about with silent gestures. They knew what to do and Rufus kept them in line. The quartermaster had a loud bark, but his bite was just as legendary among the men. Dean's gaze shifted back and forth, searching, identifying the captain and the crew members with any authority whatsoever. He searched their eyes for signs of rebellion or fear. Saw those who eyed the weapons that had been collected, and noted the ones who took stock of his men just as surely as he was taking stock of them. 

Once the deck was secure, Dean strode down the center of the ship to a few feet of where the ship's Captain was being guarded. His hand rested on the hilt of his now sheathed sword. "Is everyone on deck?" he asked, his tone as grim as his face and as somber as his clothes. Unlike his peers who favored color, the Pirate King wore black from head to foot, including his silk shirt and overcoat. The only relief from black was the fine gold embroidery that edged the sleeves, collar and went down the front of his coat, where it fastened. 

"Almost Captain. Stragglers are being pulled out." 

Dean turned, now standing with his legs apart . Once again, he was silent for a while, watching as goods were brought out of the hull and carried over to the Vengeance, but he mostly took stock of the people. When he got the nod from Rufus, he turned his head. "Your life, the lives of your men and your cargo are now forfeit," Dean said, his eyes glinting with a hardness that his men only saw once in a while.

"The cargo and my life, but spare the life of my men, please, Captain," Captain Jackson said, putting the honorable request forth from one Captain to another. "Put them ashore, unharmed. Many have families who will suffer deeply if they die, and many have but touched the beginning of their lives. Let them speak of the ferocity of yourself and your crew so others will continue to know of you. A man with nothing to lose will fight much harder if he believes capture means death. If it is known you may show mercy, it will increase the likelihood you will take future ships with little bloodshed." Jackson had no desire to die, but if it was his life versus that of his crew, he would pay the price to keep his men alive. They were good men and a crew he had sailed with often. They trusted him as he trusted them. He would not let them down now, no matter the price. He eyed the black-garbed captain and hoped the man would take his offer.

"Captain." Dean gave a mirthless laugh. "I have no doubt you were calling me anything but 'Captain' only a short time ago." His gaze raked over the older man. He knew the type. The man came from wealth. His office had been purchased, no doubt by his father. His hands would be soft and his successes would have come on the backs of the crew, not the volunteers but the many who had no choice but to work for hardly any wages, a crust of bread, and a boot to the head. Once... he might have grown up to be such a man. "Tell your passengers to step to the center." 

Captain Jackson could see the disdain in the young man's face. The Pirate King was younger than he would have imagined and he could see the man was hard and cold and likely to give very little. His mind raced with possibilities of what he could offer the man to ensure safety for as many as he could secure. "The passengers are of no value to you or your men, and are my responsibility as well. Please Captain, leave my few passengers be. We carry cargo. They have paid for a trip back home or work for owners of some of the cargo which you now possess. Can we not come to a gentleman's arrangement of some sort?"

"You mistake me for a gentlemen. Ask them to step forward, Captain." He stared at those he thought didn't appear to be crew, either by their clothes or their body language. "I won't ask again, not in words." Turning once again, he locked gazes with the Captain. Both men knew he could not afford to lose face in front of his men and that this was an ultimatum.

The Captain gave a curt nod. It wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter. "Passengers of the Destiny, please do as the Captain of the Vengeance asks. Please, front and center." He watched as the six regular passengers stepped forward. Mr. Cooper and a sailor who was taking the place of the governor's son also stepped up with the others. Samuel Winchester was mixed in with the crew, dressed down and dirtied up a bit. The young man at least had the muscles to suggest he was a sailor and he had some calluses on his hands atypical of gentry, but they were not the hardened hands of a seaman. 

Jackson returned his gaze to the Pirate King. "The passengers, Captain," he said simply. He was deeply grateful he had no female passengers on board. 

As Dean walked toward them, a few of his men also approached the group but hung back a little. Searching the faces of the passengers, Dean's scowl deepened. He only saw one possibility, but his gut said 'no'. "You there, your name?" he said pointing at one of the men who seemed to cringe away. "Are you daft? Name."

The man started to stutter and dropped to his knees. 

"Toss him overboard." Forgetting about him immediately, Dean pointed at the one he was more interested in. "Name?"

"Samuel Winchester, son of Lord and Governor Winchester," the sailor said, meeting the Pirate King's gaze boldly. He knew if the Pirate King was interested in ransom, playing the governor's son might just save his neck so he would have to be convincing. 

"Samuel Winchester. Son of Lord John Winchester?" Dean walked in front of the man and stood inches from him. "The Governor must be doing quite badly, what with putting his own son to work like a field hand or sailor." Dean's skin was a deep bronze from being under the sun day in and day out, but this man's complexion was a much deeper hue. "He must have hired governesses and tutors off the streets. Let's try this again. Say your name 'correctly,' the way it should be pronounced." 

The man's second attempt did not please the Pirate King any more than the first, that much was clear from Dean's dark look, and the fact that the man started to give his name once more. Dean didn't allow him to finish. "No." Reaching out, Dean tugged the cloth at the base of the man's neck, watching it unravel. 

"Tie your neck cloth. Show us something fancy, and make it quick," he snapped, more sure by the minute that they were trying to dupe him.

The sailor's eyes widened a bit. "Servants...my, ah, servants tend to it for me." He fumbled with the cloth, having no idea how to tie it properly. His gaze slipped to Mr. Cooper and could tell by the man's look that that was the wrong answer, but he had no other to give. 

Mr. Cooper stepped forward. "He never mastered the task, Captain. I tie it for him." 

"Ah, I see. Lax tutors and over eager servants have ruined this poor fellow." Dean gave a mirthless grin, then focused once more on the man who couldn't tie his own cravat. "State your name... your entire name and all of the titles that will come to you on your father's death and I will spare every last person on the ship. Think hard, because if you get anything wrong, their blood is on your head. Starting with the captain." 

He didn't have to give an order, one of his men put a cutlass to Captain Jackson's throat.

"Be quick about it, Samuel." His gaze slipped to the servant, then went back to the man in front of him. "Fucking hell, man, start talking," he shouted, making the man jump slightly. 

Sam's jaw pulsed as he clenched his teeth. If it was his freedom or even his life to save everyone on board, he saw no other choice. "Stop!" He stepped forward from the crew. "The man doesn't know. I am the governor's son. I will recite the full titles if that is what you wish and if you will spare everyone as you have said."

Dean whirled around. His eyes narrowed as he looked the man up and down. He was tall and surprisingly well built. He'd given up his finery, but the clothes of a sailor could not hide his bearing nor his cultured manner of speech. Dean's hand snaked out to grip Samuel's jaw as he looked him over even more carefully. Dark hair. Eyes the color of the deep seas, constantly changing and hard to describe. Scarlet, sensuous lips that could smile sweetly, Dean remembered that. But he remembered even more clearly how they spewed cutting words for one who was beneath him. Beneath him only because Samuel had stolen Dean's birthright. 

His eyes filled with hate and fury, Dean jerked Sam's face so hard that the man was all but shoved to the ground. "Gather his things... take him aboard and tie him to the masthead."

As men moved to do his bidding, Rufus called out to the Destiny's crew members to see if any wished to join them. He offered better pay and more freedom to those who wished to try the life of a pirate. Seven men stepped up, but he selected only two of them.

Dean barely listened, his gaze tracking Sam as the man was pulled up to his feet and ordered to point out his belongings. He motioned with his hand. "Clear the ship, take the sails and anchor, then set it on fire." With that, he strode away, his hands balled up at his sides as he headed for the Vengeance.

Sam pointed to the trunks that were his. One was filled with fine gifts for his soon to be wife and her family. They had cost his father a good bit, and he supposed he should leave it to be claimed as general goods, but in it were a few things of value to him. As he was escorted by Mr. Cooper, he tossed out, "Least I'm rid of you." Looking over at one of the pirates, he spoke, "Don't s'pose you could accidently skewer him or something could you?" but got no answer from the man. Glancing at Captain Jackson, Sam gave a brief smile and nod, telling the man he appreciated what he had tried to do and laid no blame on him.

He gave the pirates no problem, crawling over the planks that lead from one ship to the other, then walked to the mast and tilted his head back to look up to the top. With a sigh he asked, "He wants me all the way up there?" Getting only steely looks, he began to climb, followed up by the two crew. He didn't fight them as they lashed him in place. How long would the captain leave him here, he wondered, and why hadn't he been thrown into the brig or chained below? No doubt his father would pay the ransom he was certain the Pirate King was going to ask for, but who knew how long that would take. A few days for his father to learn of his kidnapping, a few days to gather the money....a week, he surmised, at best, before he was free again. A day or two up here and he suspected he'd be babbling incoherently from dehydration. At least he didn't easily get seasick and heights didn't bother him. Maybe he could try to piss when the captain was in the area below him. Maybe he'd get lucky and some would dribble down and land on him. 

* * *

Before the sun set, Dean had a tally of the cargo they'd hauled from the Destiny. It was a small fortune in tobacco and gold, no doubt intended to finance the ship's journey to the East after it docked in England. They'd also replenished their food and water supplies, which was always a good thing. Thrice, the quartermaster had reminded Dean that the prisoner was still lashed to the masthead and each time, Dean had ignored Rufus. His captive, on the other hand, was anything but ignored. 

Each time Dean was on deck, his eyes sought out the brother he once would have protected with his life, before he'd known Samuel Winchester was a curse on his very existence. He watched closely as sailors climbed up to taunt and tease the prisoner and even laughed when old Jeb held a small knife to the side of Sam's head. Dean knew he was probably up to his old tricks, threatening to take Samuel's ear for his collection. By the time Jeb was done with Sam, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the man pissed his pants.

The deck was being cleared and crates were brought out. With victory on the heels of victory, there would be celebrating this night. Dean had just entered his quarters when the cabin boy knocked and opened the door. 

"I don't need anything," Dean said, reaching for the decanter on his desk and pouring himself a drink.

"Aye Sir."

Dean turned and gave the nervous youth an impatient glare, expecting him to leave.

"Captain, I... Sir..."

"Spit it out, boy, I am in no mood for this." 

"The First Mate asked me to... to ... sir, he said the men might not be steady enough to bring the prisoner down, later. He asked if he should be brought down n--"

"Any man who cannot hold his liquor does not belong on my ship," Dean snarled. "Get out."

The boy didn't have to be told twice. Right before the door closed, Dean gave him another order. "Have him brought down. He is to remain bound."

* * *

From his place tied to the mast, Sam had watched as the Destiny grew smaller as they sailed away. The fire on the ship seemed to be under control before he'd lost sight of her. Sam had been groped, hit, cut, and threatened during the time he was up on the masthead. He kept as stoic as he could, acting neither afraid nor angry nor anything else. They wanted him scared. Hah. Try living with Lord Winchester and not following his strict orders and guidelines. Besides, if they wanted to take his ear, or his finger or even his balls, what could he do to stop them? So he did nothing but take their abuse silently. Just as he did with his father. 

When the sailors were not harassing him, he tried to enjoy the view. What else was he supposed to do? The ropes were tied too well and too tightly for him to escape and, if he did, where would he go? So he tried to content himself with watching the ocean, seeing the dolphins that danced on the waves cause by the bow of the ship cutting through the water.

He saw two sailors climbing up this time and schooled his face, wondering what the newest game of 'torture the prisoner' would be.

"Yer a fine looking lad," the first sailor said to him as he ran a hand over Sam's chest.

"Thank you," Sam said simply, his eyes focused out to sea. "How long can I expect your Captain to keep me up here like jerky drying in the sun?"

The two sailors looked at each other and snickered. "He's left men up here till 't'weren't nothing but picked clean bones."

"My bones won't garner him ransom," Sam said. With a soft huff he grumbled, "My nose itches."

"Ahw, poor bit o' fancy pants ain't used to such hardships."

"Do your deeds and leave me in peace," Sam snapped. He was thirsty, hungry, hot, uncomfortable and had to piss. He took a deep calming breath. No, he had to stay in control. He couldn't give them any pleasure in his discomfort. The one sailor who had caressed his chest, groped Sam through his tight pants. "Got yerself quite a wanger there. Bet you keep all the girls in yer town happy. Maybe a few men as well."

Sam ignored him but suddenly the filthy man was kissing him, his tongue stuck down his throat and his hand rubbing harder at his groin. Sam's eyes narrowed. He had little ability to move but twisted his head away. When the man's mouth followed, Sam snapped his head around, knocking it into the sailor's head with a solid blow. The man nearly lost his hold and fell. Sam kneed him, trying to shove the man further off balance. As the man struggled to regain his balance, his arm came with reach of Sam's mouth and Sam didn't hesitate digging his teeth in. The sailor howled in pain and suddenly fell away, the sails breaking his fall for the most part though he still landed with quite a thud on the deck, cursing and swearing up a storm. 

His companion punched Sam with the fist that clutched the knife. "If he's hurt..." the man hissed.

"Yeah, yeah, early grave, whipped, cut, castrated, beaten within an inch of my life." Sam leveled his cool gaze on the sailor. "You can tell the prospect frightens me."

The sailor glared at Sam but at a yell from Rufus, the sailor began undoing Sam's ropes. "The Captain's ordered you brought down. Give me no trouble or you'll take the same route as Clancy just did."

Sam said nothing. When the ropes were loosened Sam took a moment to stretch his stiff muscles then began to climb slowly down the mast until he reached the deck. The sailor, Clancy, flew at him with dagger in hand. Sam side-stepped and as the man passed him, he slammed his hand into the man's back. The man ended up face down on the deck amid laughter from the rest of the crew.

Dean had just come down to the main deck to find out why the gold had yet to be delivered to him for safe-keeping when he heard the laughter and saw the cause. Before he said anything, Sam was swarmed by men, his arms pulled behind his back, and Clancy punched him in the gut. Dean had to admit that the man's grunt of pain was satisfying, even as he demanded, "Why is this man running free? I was clear on my orders."

"He was just brought down," someone explained.

Giving a nod, Dean was about to accept that when Clancy cupped Sam's groin and loudly announced, "Fancy pants here needs a lesson that he ain't no fancy-pants aboard this ship." With that, Clancy squeezed Sam's dick hard enough that Sam let out with a cry of pain and found Clancy's tongue inside his mouth as the man continued to grip his cock hard. The pain radiating from his groin made it hard for him to do anything at first but after a moment he managed, barely, to stomp on the man's foot. He wasn't certain but he thought he might have felt a bone or two snap.

Clancy let out with a yelp, releasing Sam's dick and pulled back his fist. "I'll learn you your place, boy!" he snarled. 

In a few strides, Dean was right there, grabbing Clancy by the shoulder and shoving him to the ground. "No one is to touch him, but me. Is that clear?"

Many eyes were on the Captain and on Clancy. They knew the Captain hadn't said the prisoner was off limits, in fact he'd seemed to enjoy it when they'd taunted him. 

"Sir?" Clancy asked, standing up, his eyes smoldering with a fury that rivaled the Captain's. 

"He's mine. Not for you to play with, not like that," Dean clarified, staring Clancy down.

"You haven't claimed him as yours. Captain--"

Flushing to an angry shade of red, Dean took another step, grabbed Sam by the shirt and dragged him close. His mouth slanted over the captive's in a brutal kiss meant solely to dominate and punish. He felt Sam try to pull away, though he was being held by the other crew members, and he sensed when his tongue was in danger of being bitten and broke the kiss, ending it with a backfist to Sam's jaw. He spit on the deck, mostly blood from the damage he'd done to Sam's lips. "He is claimed."

Clancy's wasn't the only voice of dissent. 

"Share alike... it's our contract with you," Clancy reminded. 

"I yield my share of the cargo from the Destiny. He and his belongings are mine." When he saw Clancy start to argue again, Dean pulled his sword out and trained its tip on Clancy's throat, touching it lightly. "I am the Captain here until a vote says otherwise. Do you want to call a vote?" Dean knew damned well he would win any vote. They'd been lucky in their ventures and the men liked him, they felt safe and confident with his decisions. "No? Good. If I have to tell you again, I will have your dead carcass nailed to the mast." Sheathing his sword, he turned and looked at the crewman holding Sam. Immediately, they started to shove Sam off to the stairs that lead downstairs.

*

Sam was given a chance to piss and change from his sailor garb to that of gentry. Looking through the trunk with his clothes, he pushed the wig aside and decided he wouldn't wear the hat either since they'd likely only take it from him. He changed his shirt and put on his coat since they'd told him he'd be back on deck. When he asked for some water, he was given a single mug and used a bit of its contents to wipe his face down before drinking the rest of it. He used some salve he had in one of his trunks on his lip but found his hands were shaking. The others didn't scare him. The captain...the captain was another matter. 

He is mine... That didn't sound like a man planning on ransoming him. The kiss had been harsh and distasteful, not at all like the sweet kisses of his Gabriel. He pulled his hair loose, combed it through, then retied it. Admittedly, he felt a little more human, a little more normal again. His pirate guards brought him back out and up to the deck where he was bound standing to the bottom of one of the smaller masts. He was shocked to see women on board, some obviously crew members. There was quite a party going on and the liquor was steadily flowing. Pipes were being played and the crew was dancing and rowdy. Sam watched the crew a little enviously. It was so unlike all the prim and proper parties he had been forced to attend through the years. It was much more like the rough bars he and Gabe managed to slip off to upon occasion. He smiled to himself, though he kept it from showing on his face, as he watched the crew dance and sing and drink.

As the liquor flowed, the crew grew more bold. Some approached Sam, demanding he sing and when he didn't, he was struck. Some simply taunted him. He took a sharp elbow to the gut from Clancy at one point when the man walked by. Glancing at the Captain, he saw the man was staring at him, his face dark and unreadable. Whatever the Captain wanted with him, he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant, but he didn't understand why he was tied up on deck. Better on the deck than in chains in the hold, he mused, at least for now.

Whenever Sam glanced at the captain, that gaze was boring into him. It unnerved him and he couldn't bring himself to stare down the man so he tried to distract himself by continuing to watch the crew have their fun.

Despite the cajoling from his men and the antics that usually amused him, Dean neither participated nor was he lulled out of his dark mood. Instead, he brooded and stared at the reason for his discontent. Try as he might, he couldn't muster up even a slight warmth toward the man who had once been a babe, his little brother. He vaguely remembered the servants calling him whenever Samuel cried. He'd make faces and get him laughing in no time. Both Sam and their mother. But once their mother had died, thanks to Sam, Dean's life had gone to hell. Taking a jug of grog, he finally got up and walked through the dancers, shoving aside two men settling their differences by fisticuffs, and came to stand next to Sam.

He didn't say anything for a while, only watched him, enjoying the signs of his nervousness. Oh, he had a lot to be nervous about. Plenty, Dean thought as he recalled that single day they'd crossed paths. It hadn't been coincidence. After being sold, Dean had been put to work from morning until night, sometimes sleeping on the hard ground, sometimes in worse places. When he'd grown older, he'd risked beatings by stealing the time it took to learn about the whereabouts of his younger brother. He'd found out that Sam was brought to their father's warehouse several times a week. From then on, he'd spent as much time as he could taking the routes around the warehouse or running by it when he was on an errand, always looking for Sam. Occasionally, he did see Sam but chasing a carriage would have been useless. Then one day, when Dean had been about thirteen, when he'd finally caught sight of Sam walking, he'd forgotten his own errand and followed. Maybe he'd get a few minutes to speak with his brother, that's what he'd thought. Maybe the governess would look away, or stop to look inside a shop. Well she had, and then Samuel had wandered into the street. The little fool... at eight, he should have known better. Dean had dashed into the street and shoved Sam out of the way of an oncoming carriage. They'd both fallen into the mud. The package Dean had been carrying.... delivering... was destroyed. 

Dean got up and put his hand out to help Sam up. 

Sam batted his hand away, giving him look, a sneer. "Look what you've done! My clothes are ruined! Torn!" Sam pushed himself up and looked down at his now bedraggled appearance. "I almost look like one of ...you," Sam sniffed haughtily and glared at the older boy. "You should be made to pay for these clothes you, you, you ragamuffin! That someone like you would even think to touch someone like me! Who do you think you are?"

Dean's ready smile was gone. 'Lady Mary Campbell Winchester's first born, he wanted to shout back, but the words stuck in his throat. He'd never been ashamed of his clothes, never cared much about them, but the way Samuel looked at him, the sheer disgust in his voice, or maybe it was the situation, but he suddenly felt no bigger, no more important than the vermin that crawled over him and his pillow at nights. "Apologies, I was wrong to believe your life was worth more than your clothes," he gave a humble bow. "If you would just pay for the package... five pence, I'll be on my way." He didn't trust himself to say more. His eyes were already stinging, and it wasn't because of the punishment he'd receive if he didn't replace the lost goods. 

"You want me to pay you for ruining my clothes? For scraping my knees? My hand is bleeding! I wouldn't give you even a half-pence after what you've done! Get away from me or I will call for the constables and have you arrested! I will, too! Have you made to work to pay for these clothes you've ruined!" Sam stomped his foot, splashing more mud about. He saw his governess and ran back toward her, wailing about the boy who'd tackled him into the mud and pointing back at Dean.

Seeing the governess kindly take hold of Sam's hand and her gaze sharpening on Dean as if she was about to have him hauled away, and faced with the sheer contempt in his brother's eyes, Dean felt his heart freeze until he could feel nothing at all. Before she could call for help, he turned and ran, ran from them, ran from the looks in their eyes, ran from the shattered remains of dreams he'd made up about a future with his brother, his family. That day, one dream died, but another was born. One day, he'd be the one showing his contempt for that boy. 

"Back in your finery I see. A snow white shirt, no flecks of dirt. A fine mask for a black heart." Raising the jug to his mouth, Dean took a few long drinks, trying to wash away the memories that would never stay buried under the sands.

"I have no other clothes with me," Sam said. He frowned at Dean's accusation. "It seems that I am not the one with the black heart, Captain. I have not intentionally wronged any man, woman or child. I do not thieve, or throw men overboard, or tie prisoners to the masthead and let those under me torment them, beat them, cut them and fondle them in a way a man should not touch another man. No, Captain, I think you best look in a mirror to see a black heart, for it does not beat in my chest." He swallowed hard, looking into those cold eyes. Here was a man who could torture another, gut him slowly and think nothing of it. "What...what do you intend to do with me, Captain?"

Dean gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh but you have, you have done all those things, every last one," he ground out as memories of his punishment for having lost the package and gotten his clothes dirty crowded his mind. He'd expected to be beaten. Whipped maybe. Then forced to sleep on the cold floor without a blanket and with his bloodied flesh sticking to the ground. That would have been heaven compared to what had happened. He hadn't even known back then that a man could rape a man... a boy, that it was even possible or a thing that happened. When he'd given the big, burly man his back the way he'd been ordered, when his face had been slammed into the wall and when his clothes had been torn off him... he'd still had no idea of what was to come. That night, and every night after, until he ran, until he took to the sea. 

Barely seeing Sam, Dean blinked away the memories. "It's an eye for an eye, around here. And your father's protection means shit. You're nothing, just like all the ragamuffins you step on." 

"I think you confuse me with my father," Sam said quietly, frowning slightly at the 'innocent' term the pirate used. He would have expected stronger language. "I am not my father. You know nothing of me, except what tripe you might read in the papers of my family. You know nothing of my life or my heart. If you wish to punish me for his evils..." Sam stared at the deck. "...then so be it." He lifted his gaze and met that of the black garbed captain, fire suddenly coming into his eyes. "But if you accuse me of evils, then at least give me the opportunity to know what evil I have done that I must lose an eye as it were. If I have truly wronged you--me, and not my father--then do your worst. I deserve no less. But know that If I have wronged you or your family or that of your crew, I am sorry. I would make amends if I could. If I can."

"If?" Dean snarled, slamming his fist into Sam's face and hardly noticing the blood that splattered from his nose and marred his shirt. Grasping the shirt, he pulled Sam as far from the column of wood he was tied to as he could, so his face was only inches from Sam's. "There's no if. You have wronged me and I know you well, I know you very, very well. Well enough to know your pretty little speeches mean nothing. That because of who you are you've learned to explain away anything. Kill someone, you or dearest papa comes up with a good tale and you have a hundred witnesses backing up your story, or the people at your beck and call will get rid of the body. Competition you don't like, they disappear. Knock up the wrong girl, and she conveniently breaks her neck in a fall. There is no 'if,' and I hear you deny it again, I will have you flogged, then dragged through the salt water. And that's for starters." His nostrils flared as he drew in his breaths. Dean remembered every last person that he ordered overboard, had flogged, or otherwise punished. Samuel cared so little for anyone he considered beneath him that he couldn't remember that day. That day when bad things went worse. Releasing him, Dean knocked back some more liquor, glaring at those sailors looking in their direction.

"I have never killed a man! And if I had ever gotten a young woman pregnant I would be married now rather than have been on that damnable ship headed to England to marry some rich man's daughter and thus ended up in your twisted and spiteful hands!" Sam yelled at him, knowing the Pirate King was likely good for his word and he would be flogged for his denial. But he was long accustomed to punishment when he spoke so defiantly. "You know nothing of me!" Sam spat at him, his bloodied spittle hitting the captain square in the face.

"Sonovabitch!" Fury sent Dean's blood straight to his temples. Almost instantly, he swung the jug at Sam's head, shattering it across his brow. A sheet of blood poured down Sam's face, but Dean wasn't satisfied. Wiping the spit off, he struck Sam again, and again, until no more sounds passed between the man's lips and he was out cold. "Take him down, shackle him in my quarters. Get me another drink!" He shouted his orders. 

The music suddenly died down and men scrambled to do as they were told. Rufus made his way to the Captain's side and didn't flinch at the warning in the man's eyes. "A wise man would keep him alive until he collected the ransom."

"He's still breathing," Dean ground out.

"Barely."

There was silence.

"Will he still be breathing, come morning?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Curling his fingers around a bottle that was brought to him, Dean drank deeply. "Death would be too easy. Too quick." With that, Dean walked away and waved at the musicians to resume their play. He felt the weight of Rufus' gaze on him, but steadfastly ignored both it and the questioning gazes of his men. It wasn't often that they saw him out of control, but they'd known he couldn't lose face in front of them and Sam had spit in his face. Many a Captain would have fed him to the fish for that; he'd shown mercy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/albums/k537/virtualpersonal/?action=view&current=DangerousWaters.jpg)

Sam groaned. His head ached ferociously. He shifted on the hard wooden floor and let out a questioning grunt when he heard the clank of chains and felt weight around his wrists. Opening his right eye--his left was practically swollen shut -- he saw the room had some light from a lantern or fire or something... 

What had he done to piss off his father this time? Trying to remember, the scent of the ocean was in his lungs and it slowly came back to him. They finally chained him in the brig. Good. He would be away from the Pirate King and maybe the others would leave him alone. When he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, his head started to spin. He fought back the nausea that cramped his empty stomach. "If I did not smell the ocean I would think I was home," he mumbled pushing himself closer to the wall so he could lean against it. His gaze searched the floor for a cup of water and came to realize he was not in some brig but in quarters. Nice quarters. ...The Captain's quarters. 

"Oh, bloody hell," he cursed. His ankles were shackled, a decent length of chain running between them. It appeared that the shackles on his wrists were connected to chains that led to a ring in the wall. Suddenly realizing the shadow in a chair was not a shadow but rather the captain, Sam jumped just a little. Those damned unnerving eyes were on him again, staring at him steadily. He looked away and leaned his head gingerly against the wall. 

"Might I get some water, sir?" Sam asked quietly. He was damned hungry at this point but didn't believe the captain would be concerned over his empty gullet, so he didn't ask for food.

"After you beg my pardon." Legs stretched out before him, Dean uncrossed his ankles and straightened in the comfortable chair, keeping his gaze trained on his captive. 

"Please pardon me for my error and behavior, sir," Sam said softly. He saw no sense in being stubborn about it. He just really wanted some water and would do what it took to quench his parched throat.

"Once more, and this time, convince me you mean what you say." Dean recalled the fire in Sam's eyes and this apology had come too quickly, too easily.

Sam shut his eyes briefly and sighed. He turned his head to look at the captain. "I'm sorry. For whatever I did, or my father did. I'm sorry I don't know, or that I don't remember. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have spit on you. I am sorry for that, too. But I will not give you lies. I have never killed a man, though men have died at the shipping company and if you wish to blame me for those then I suppose I cannot deny it. I swear I have never impregnated a woman, I swear to you on my eternal soul. Rumors may say otherwise, but they are not true. That is the truth and I more than beg your pardon and also, I beg that you believe these words I have spoken. I am truly sorry, Captain. I am," he said earnestly. 

Dean gave an unsatisfied grunt. "Get up. Sit at the table," he ordered, turning his head toward the door. "Alfred, food and drink," he called out. The soft knock let him know the cabin boy heard him. Using his foot, he pushed a chair back from the table and cocked his head. "Well?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said and slowly pushed himself to his feet, using the wall to help him get up. He stood there for a moment, until the dizziness passed, then shuffled over to the table and sat down, his hands on his lap, his head bowed like a beaten child. "Do you intend to ransom me, sir? And...and I beg your pardon and mercy for my denial on deck. I do not wish to be flogged and keelhauled."

Lips pressed into a flat line, Dean searched Sam's face for a resemblance to their father. He'd expected one and it irked him to find none. None that were visible, but of course his brother walked in their father's footsteps. "You will write your own ransom note to the Lord Governor and sign it in your blood. You will detail your... mistreatment and beg him to pay for your release immediately. I suggest you emphasize you are his sole legitimate heir." A muscle throbbed in Dean's jaw.

"Yes, sir. I suppose I am fortunate I am the only heir. Otherwise, you would never see any money from him. Tell me the amount of your demands and I will write the note as soon as you wish." Sam kept his head bowed. He didn't want to piss off the Captain again if he could avoid it....at least not until after he got some water. 

"You're fortunate you were born unmarred." _Touched by the devil's hand_. Dean quickly pulled his gaze away and stared at the decorative screen behind Sam. "Your weight in gold. For starters. Lady Winchester's jewelry, every piece." Frowning, Dean looked back at Sam. "His ring. I want the ring he wears."

"My mother's...my mother's jewelry?" Sam asked, looking up at the Pirate King, shocked. "Please, I...I have nothing of her. She died when I was not even a year old. There is only a painting that Father keeps in his office that I am rarely permitted to see. Her jewelry...my father has sold much of it, there are only a few pieces left and those few pieces I have begged him to keep in memory of her. Please, twice my weight in gold but please, leave me those few pieces, I beg you, sir. In the trunk of gifts for my bride to be, there is a piece of my mother's jewelry that was to be a wedding gift for her, a necklace. Would that not be enough?"

There was a soft knock and then a young boy entered with a tray. Cheese and bread and slices of apple were on a plate and a pitcher of wine. The boy set the tray before the captain and poured the wine into both cups. "Anything else, Captain?" the boy asked.

Dean waved him away. "Thrice your weight in gold and all of your mother's jewelry." He started to raise his goblet up then stopped. "I suggest you eat and drink, I am in no mood for argument." With that warning, Dean drank his wine. Samuel's things had been searched. If the jewelry was not brought to him tomorrow, he would have some questions for his men. 

Sam felt the sting of tears and said nothing more as he began to slowly eat the food and drink the wine provided though his injured lips and bruised face made it somewhat difficult. He knew without a doubt the man had some specific grudge against him and was out to cause him as much heart-ache and pain as he could. After he had eaten and the pitcher was empty, he stayed at the table, hands returned to his lap and his head bowed. He would wait until the Captain dismissed him or provided him with parchment and ink, or whatever the man had in mind for him next. The only reason he was able to keep from fidgeting and to keep his eyes open and not beg for sleep was because of long practice with his father in the place of the captain. Still, a tear slipped down his face.

Tears had not stopped what had happened to Dean. Nor had blood. And when it was all over, Dean hadn't had a nice large house to go back to, with a nice soft bed, and servants to wait on him hand and foot. He wouldn't allow Samuel's tears to move him, Sam was getting what he deserved. In fact, he was getting off lightly. "Go, wash your face and take a piss," Dean said, pointing with his chin toward the corner of the room where there was a wash basin with a pitcher of water next to it, and a piss pot. 

Rising, Sam did as he was told, breath hissing between his teeth as he washed his bruised and bloodied face and then made use of the piss pot. After he finished he turned back to the Captain and stood waiting for his next orders.

A long moment passed before Dean spoke. "Open your shirt." His gaze moved up Sam's body to lock with his eyes, searching for the smallest sign of rebellion.

Sam opened his jacket, undid the blood-soaked tie around his throat and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. The shirt was still tucked in so only a sliver of his chest was actually exposed.

"You really should strive to obey," Dean said with a hard glint in his eyes. It was subtle, but he sensed Sam's rebellion.

Sam swallowed hard, hearing the dangerous tone in the captain's voice. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and finished undoing the last few buttons. Then he pulled open the shirt as much as he could but kept silent, shifting nervously from foot to foot. 

Staring, Dean reminded himself that what had happened to Dean had been Sam's fault. His fingers tightened around the stem of the goblet even as his eyes roved over Sam's surprisingly well-muscled chest. He wasn't unattractive, not at all. But in the end, it was neither his body nor his face that had him drawing his breath in. It was the way his throat convulsed, a small movement that spoke volumes. 

"Take off my boots," Dean said suddenly, turning his body slightly. 

Sam moved closer and bent over, tugging on the first boot, trying his best to get the boot off smoothly without unseating the man. He did a fair job of it, then moved to the second boot. He had to get in a bit closer and get down on one knee in order to lift Dean's booted foot. Tugging that boot off as well, he set both boots next to Dean's chair. 

Moving quickly, he straightened and stepped back. Fear made his stomach twist and churn. The wine was beginning to do its job and the pain from the beating had eased a bit. His father put this sort of fear in him, but his father was generally predictable and Sam knew what reactions his words would wring from him. This man was more frightening than his father because Sam neither knew what to expect nor had he any confidence his life was safe. The hate and fury inside this man was strong and tumultuous, and there was no doubt that a great deal of it burned for the Winchester family. He would not be surprised if at the very end, as the captain and the crew collected the ransom, as his father waited with dark eyes for Sam to be set free and sent to him, this man drove a dirtied blade into his gut, returning him in a state that his father would have to watch him die a slow and painful death while at the same time putting an end to the family line.

"I looked like that once," Dean said. Yes, he'd been afraid and innocent to the ways of evil men. But Samuel had taken that from him. And now, what he couldn't give back to Dean, he would pay for in kind. Lifting the cup to his mouth, Dean drained the last of the wine and got up. He grabbed Sam's open shirt and could feel Sam's heart pounding furiously, could feel him pulling back slightly. That hadn't helped Dean when he'd been a youth, and it wasn't going to save Sam either. 

Slowly, he wound the silky shirt around his fist, pulling Sam closer in the process. He could feel Sam's breath on his face, could sense that they'd quickened. There was a silent plea in Sam's eyes, one Dean answered. "I have no mercy to give," he said, suddenly forcing his mouth over Sam's. 

Dean's words were true. There was no mercy in the kiss. He crushed his mouth angrily over Sam's already swollen lips, plundering Sam's mouth with his tongue. He wrapped one arm around Sam like an iron band, refusing to allow him any space and pulling him steadily closer until Sam was up hard against his frame. His free hand roamed under Sam's shirt, not in soft caresses, but in hard, deliberate motions, geared to give neither of them any pleasure. He needed to get hard. That was his sole goal, and he wanted it to happen as fast as possible. The longer it took, the more punishing his kisses became. He shoved Sam up against a wardrobe and forced his knee between Sam's legs. As he thrust harder and harder against his captive, Dean tried to banish the sounds of the past. Echoes of a man screaming at him, ordering him to get him hard again. No, this was his turn. He wasn't the victim anymore. He was the one in control, the one who would have his way. Grabbing a handful of Sam's hair, he tugged his head back and kissed a path down his neck, then licked his way back to ravage his mouth once again.

Sam's didn't, wouldn't, respond to the man's punishing kisses. As up on the masthead, the man's tongue was an unwanted invasion and Sam's lips were already cut and swollen from the beating the captain had given him. His touches were bruising and the occasional painful twists to his nipples made Sam try harder to get away from him. The man's thrusting against him finally brought sobs to Sam's hitching breath. Memories of Gabriel came unbidden to his mind. Soft loving kisses, gentle caresses, pleasure and love. The feeling of Gabriel inside him, pounding against him. 

_The stall door crashed open and Gabriel was suddenly pulled away from him, out of his arms. His father's face red with furious rage looked almost demonic._

_"What is this obscenity!" his father had shouted. Sam hadn't much more than gotten his feet under him when his father's servants grabbed him and held him. His father hit Gabriel again and again, kicked him, turning that beautiful body of his lover purple with bruising and red with blood._

_"You're killing him! Father! Stop! Please! It is not his fault, it is mine. I made him do this!" Sam had screamed and pleaded even knowing sodomy was a capital offense. "Let him go! Punish me! Not him! Please, Father!" No matter what Sam said, it seemed only to infuriate the elder Winchester. His father hadn't stopped beating Gabriel until long after Gabriel had stopped moving. Then he'd turned his wrath on Sam, beating him senseless and, as if that wasn't enough, taking a horsewhip and lashing Sam's back again and again._

Sam shoved ineffectively at the captain's shoulders, trying to get him to stop. His hands finally closed around the Pirate King's throat. He dug his thumbs into the man's windpipe while he continued to sob, wanting only to escape.

Dean's grunt of pain was followed by the sound of bone striking bone when his forearm connected with the bottom of Sam's jaw, forcing Sam's head back and banging it sharply against the closet. "You are nothing here, nothing," he snarled, grabbing Sam by the shirt and dragging him over to the wall, next to where the chains were shackled to the wall. Holding him against the wall with one hand, Dean grabbed the loose chains and pulled them back, then stepped back. The further he pulled the chains, the more chain winded around a pinwheel contraption, pulling Sam's arms up higher and higher. 

Moving to the wall, Dean wrapped the extra chain around a protruding metal post that had a hook on its end. Slipping the links through the hook, he wiped his hands and stood there, breathing hard, knowing that Sam couldn't fight him anymore. "Whether you live through this or not, you will learn."

Sam struggled uselessly against the shackles, tears streaking his bruised and swollen face. "Please don't do this, please," he begged. "I'll get you whatever you want, I swear, just please...please..." Sam felt like his whole world was falling to pieces around him. Ever since his father had discovered Gabe and himself, his world had started to unravel, culminating to this, enslaved by a man who hated him and his family for reasons he didn't even know. 

"Shut up." Dean's voice cracked like a whip. "Just shut up!" He said, slicing his hand through the air. He saw Sam's tears and recalled his own like it was only yesterday. Hot, endless tears falling down his chest, to the floor, useless. Wheeling Sam around, so he didn't have to see his face anymore, Dean shoved him against the wall and looked up to see Sam's wrists were now crossed over his head. The instant Sam started to pull from the wall, he slapped a heavy hand on his back and shoved again. Quickly undoing his own trousers, he stepped closer and undid Sam's, shoving them down to his knees. Reaching down, he grabbed his own cock and closed his eyes, trying to block his mind to the sounds of the sniffling and sobbing while he stroked himself to hardness.

Sam stood against the wall since the captain obviously wanted him there, but pressed himself so close it was as if he wanted to meld into the wood. When he felt Dean undo his pants a fresh sob broke from him. The cool air on his bare flesh made his shiver. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to imagine it was Gabriel behind him, that they were back in the stables before his father had ever found out about them. Sam caught his lip between his teeth. It was bloodied and bruised and sore, but he didn't care. The pain was a welcome distraction, knowing what was about to happen to him. He shuddered and waited, hearing the Pirate King's harsh breaths growing faster and knowing the man was near ready. 

Dean spit in his hand and used it to stroke his cock a few more times before he stepped forward and aligned it to Sam's entrance. Samuel's body was warm, but not welcoming. He was tense and shrinking away. Putting his arm around Sam's shoulder, he clamped his hand on his jaw and forced him to turn slightly. "I don't want to hear a word out of you. Nothing, not a word, unless the word is 'sorry.'" With his other arm firmly around Sam's waist, Dean gave a sharp thrust, grunting with pain and thrusting one more time with brutal force, squeezing his eyes shut at the near pain of being squeezed so tight so suddenly.

Sam bit back his cry of pain as the captain shoved his cock up his ass, his finger's wrapping around the chains attached to the shackles on his wrists. He whimpered again as the man finished pushing inside him. He tasted blood in his mouth as he bit his own lip bloody. He didn't care about the warning at this point. His tears had changed over to tears of pain, and he wasn't really sure if he cared if the man killed him. Better death than this. The man was raping him, was going to fuck him bloody. The pain of the sudden breaching and the way he was stretched hurt so fucking much. 

"You're a bastard," Sam hissed. "A black-hearted ruthless bastard, worse than Lord Winchester himself." It took every ounce of control he had but he squeezed his internal muscles, tightening them even more, ignoring the pain, knowing it would hurt the pirate as much as it did him.

"Ungh..." Dean gave a grunt of pain, then started to fuck. Pulling out only half way, he slammed back inside Sam's tight hole, seeing white behind his eyelids... the man was that tight. His fingers dug into Sam's jaw and the instant he was able to establish a rhythm of short, sharp thrusts, he pulled his face to the side. "For the last time. Only one word. 'Sorry,"" he ground out, arching back slightly and shoving his dick all the way inside Sam, again and again, the burn easing slightly and allowing instinct to take over. He started to fuck harder, "Sorry. It's all you get to say. Sorry." It's what he'd imagined for years, trading places with that snake of a brother of his, making him see what he'd put him through, hearing him apologize, over and over. He wasn't a fool, it might never happen, but he would have his revenge and maybe get a piece of himself back.

"Never," Sam grunted as the man fucked him. He would not apologize for something unless he knew what he was apologizing for...or if his life hung in the balance. He couldn't keep up the clenching, it hurt too damned much. A soft cry escaped Sam as the pirate inadvertently hit his prostate once he relaxed and even through the pain and humiliation, there was a small tingle of pleasure. He gripped the chains tighter. "Bastard," he muttered, refusing to acknowledge it.

Dean wanted to pulverize Sam's face against the wall, and he would have, if words hadn't slipped past his lips. "Better to curse than call for your father," he said, bitterness tingeing his voice. Until this moment, Dean had forgotten he'd screamed for his father. Of all people, for his father. For the man who'd tossed him away and wanted him dead. And why? Because perfect little Samuel had been born. Angry at himself for recalling the memory, angry at Sam and his father, Dean forgot the world around him and took his anger and pain out on Sam, fucking him so hard, the sound of Sam's knees or body or face hitting the wooden wall paneling alternated between the sounds of his own grunts and curses. He moved like a man possessed, a man in the grips of fever, sometimes lifting Sam off the floor with his thrusts. His hand slipped down from Sam's stomach and when he felt the man's cock against his hand, he quickly removed it to Sam's hip. He wouldn't give pleasure. He didn't even receive pleasure. He administered punishment because only one thing mattered: vengeance. He was taking his vengeance, here and now. 

With each thrust, Dean pushed himself a little closer to release, climbing higher, wanting only to be free, wanting to erase the past, to rid himself of a weight he'd carried for too long. "Fuck you. Fuck you _little Lord Winchester_ , fuck you," he ground out as his balls finally tightened against his body and brought him close to the end. 

Sam just wanted it over, for the bastard to come and be done with him. He had never been fucked so hard and knew he was torn and bleeding from the pirate's brutality. He heard the pirate's curses at him and felt the sudden heat fill his insides and run down his thighs as the man continued to fuck against him. He gave no reaction. Just as when his father was done punishing him, he turned his features unemotional. There would be no more tears or begging tonight. Hopefully the man had sated his desires and would leave Sam alone. He didn't move when the man finally pulled out of him, didn't say anything. He just stood there waiting, praying it was over. 

In silence, Dean took his trousers off, cleaned himself up and pulled on a night shirt. He barely looked at Samuel as he walked to his desk and poured himself a glass of real spirit, drinking it down without taking a breath. When he walked back, it was to unhook the chains so that Sam's arms could drop down once again and he had freedom to move within the Captain's quarters. "Clean yourself up. Sleep on the floor or on the bed," he said, pulling the cover open and getting into the bed. "I'm a light sleeper. If you try anything, it will be the end of you." Closing his eyes, Dean waited. Waited for the oppressive weight that had been with him since he'd lost his childhood to lift. It would. It had to, now that his dreams of vengeance were a reality.

*

Sam was honestly surprised the Captain wasn't going to leave him hanging there. Pulling his pants up only a little, just enough to make it easy to move, he shuffled over to the basin. He cleaned up the cum dribbling down his leg and gingerly washed his abused hole, then he wiped at the cum that had gotten on his pants. After refastening his pants, buttoning his shirt and tucking it in, he moved back --he was damned if he'd sleep in the same bed as that monster--and finding a spot on the floor as far from the captain as he could get, settled down. Curling up, he stared blankly into the shadows. He wasn't sure if he was permitted to drink any of the captain's liquor and he wasn't about to blow out the lantern unless ordered to. 

_I miss you Gabe. I pray you are safe in God's arms. I may be joining you sooner than I ever thought I would._

* * * 

When morning came and Dean sat up in bed, the events of the night came rushing back to him. He turned his head to where the chains connected to the wall and followed the links to the floor and across the room, behind the ornate panel screen that separated his sleeping and privy areas from the public areas where he had his large desk as well as a small dining table and some chairs. Swinging his legs off the bed, he pushed off and checked behind the screen. Sam was asleep sitting up, leaning against the wall. His face was marked up, swollen and bruised. He was hardened to the sight of injuries, and yet, he his stomach roiled. 

Calling himself all sorts of ass, he headed into the privy and pouring the dirty water out of the basin and into a bucket, then poured fresh water from the pitcher into the basin. He performed his morning absolutions and caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror as he shaved with a sharp knife. Something that had never happened before happened then. He lost what was left of his evening's meal, heaving loudly as he threw it up into the bucket of dirty water. 

A half hour later, he was dressed, stepping over Sam's legs and walking out the door. His cabin boy immediately snapped to attention. 

"Take care of the privy and bring breakfast for the prisoner. After he breaks his fast, he is to write to his father. Then he has the choice of being on deck or staying here. He is not to be freed of his shackles at any time."

"Aye Captain."

With a nod, Dean headed out, then down the stairs to the deck. The cool ocean air felt good, cleansing somehow. He quickly fell into routine, seeking out the first mate and the quartermaster.

* * *

Sam awoke to the soft voice of the captain's cabin boy telling him breakfast was served. Sam thanked him and got unsteadily to his feet. He winced, every part of him hurting, inside and out. Gingerly, he walked over to the table, the chains dragging on the floor and clattering when he eased himself into a chair. 

It was a better meal than he expected, fresh fruit, eggs, toast and salted pork. These were likely supplies taken from his ship, the Destiny. He drank the water then asked the boy to fetch him some watered wine to ease his aches, or willow bark tea, if it might be available. The boy returned with watered wine which Sam downed quickly.

After breakfast was cleared away, Alfred provided him with parchment and told him to write his father, and went about straightening up the captain's quarters.

Sam considered long and hard what he wanted to say, then he picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell.

_Father,_

_The Destiny was overtaken by pirates and I am in the hands of the Pirate King. Captain Jackson made every effort to conceal my identity, but when the pirates threatened all those on board, I revealed myself. Captain Jackson made an amazing stand against overwhelming firepower and numbers, and quickly hid me in with the crew. The ruse nearly worked, but the Pirate King is savvy and unfortunately somewhat familiar with our family, so the ruse failed. Know that I would entrust my life to Captain Jackson again without hesitation. While I know you are surely upset, it would be a great error to lose such a fine captain._

_Since my capture, I have been lashed to the masthead, beaten, cut, threatened, and other offensive injuries have been done to my person, but I am alive and intact. The Pirate King demands thrice my weight in gold, all of Lady Winchester's jewelry, and the ring you wear bearing the crest of our family. He has made it quite clear that you will have no legitimate heir in the near future if his demands are not met. As I am your sole heir, he expects you to respond promptly to these demands to ensure my safety. Father, he has a grudge against our family I do not understand, and I do not doubt he will kill me if the ransom is not met._

_Your son,_

Sam set aside the quill and looked to the cabin boy. "I need a small blade and container. The captain ordered that I sign this in blood." He gave a small smile to the lad. "I do wish now I had a much shorter name and title."

Alfred smirked but was obviously a bit sympathetic to Sam's plight. He pulled out his own dagger and turning over a dirty plate, used it to catch the blood that dripped after he made a small cut on Sam's finger. 

Sam dribbled blood onto the porcelain surface until he felt he had enough, then accepted the bandage offered by the cabin boy and wrapped it around the small wound. As ordered, Sam signed his name in blood. He sprinkled the parchment with a drying and setting agent then shook the parchment free of the bit of loose powder. "See if this meets with your captain's approval."

Alfred nodded. "You are permitted to come out on deck if you wish, though you must still be bound. Or the Captain said you can stay in here."

"I think I'll stay in here, for now. Thank you, lad. Tell me, son, does the Pirate King have a name?"

"Aye, but it is so silly, he doesn't use it," Alfred whispered. "The only time I've heard it is when the wenches shout it out... Dean... Deeeean... oh Deeeeean. He tips them well for that, I hear," he winked at Sam, glad to have someone to talk to who didn't cuff him about the head and was less vulgar than most of the sailors. "The rest of us, we just call him Captain." Taking the parchment, he started to roll it to be sure he wouldn't crease it.

Sam straightened a little. "Dean? That...that is a family name among my mother's family. It means 'leader.' His surname, boy? Is it Campbell?" Sam asked anxiously. He knew little of his mother's side of the family, only a few bits and pieces the servants had told him, and those he practically had to beg for. Lord Winchester refused to allow the servants to speak of his mother and any of the time before she had died. Perhaps the captain was a relative and blamed his father and Sam for her death. It was common knowledge that she had never recovered after Sam was born, so in a way, it was his fault she had died.

Alfred gave a shrug. "I don't rightly know, Sir. Haven't heard that name mentioned. I'd best be going," he said, walking to the door, glancing at Sam, then walking out and pulling the door shut.

"So are you my cousin, Captain? Is that what this is about? Did Mother have brothers or sisters? Or it's possible, I suppose, that you might be an uncle though you seem a bit young for that. You look only a few years my elder." He recalled a few toys he'd had when he was very young that had the name Dean inscribed on them. He was told not to speak to his father about them or let his father see them, that they were toys handed down and that Dean was a family name, one Sam should never utter around his father. He had never been able to find out _why_ though.

Hearing the muffled sounds of laughter and orders coming from the deck, then glancing about the room, he decided he would risk a bit of investigating. He would be careful to keep an ear open for any sounds that hinted at anyone climbing the stairs or approaching the captain's quarters.

He flipped through the captain's logbook and found the notations that made it quite clear _Dean_ was after the Destiny. Going back further he also saw that the Vengeance was apparently a long time haranguer of his father's ships. There was also a neat stack of Lawrence Gazettes near the privy. "So you've been using the news reports to figure out when my father was shipping valuable cargo." He found the one that announced his engagement and froze. "And I fell into that category."

Sam continued to carefully search the cabin, hoping to find anything that he could link to his mother, but also wanting to be certain the captain did not know Sam had gone through his things. He had a feeling that just like with his father, he'd get a beating out of being caught. He stopped when he found a scroll case in a drawer separate from the map cases in the cabinet. Inside he found several pieces of art. When he pulled a random one out and looked at it, his eyes widened a bit. It was done in charcoal, a young woman. The artist wasn't the best, but it looked like Sam's mother, and the necklace around the woman's throat clinched it. It was the same piece Sam had brought to give to his future wife. He found another picture by the same artist and Sam studied it for a while. The furnishings in the picture seemed familiar. If he didn't know better, Sam would say it was of himself when he was just a babe. He also found a very precise drawing of the Winchester crest. 

Taking the charcoal on the shelf and after hesitating only a moment, he quickly went to work on the picture that he was fairly certain was his mother. Of course if it was a drawing of his aunt, Dean's mother, Dean would likely kill him for messing it up. He quickly fleshed out the work of art, making the shadows right and making the picture look like the one in his father's office. He had drawn it often enough himself, sneaking in and sketching and re-sketching it until he could draw her in his sleep practically. After he finished it, he studied it a minute, smiling a little as he looked into her eyes. "We have a mystery on our hands, Mother," he said softly. "I do hope I live through to discover the truth."

Returning the artwork to the case, he decided he really needed to rest a bit more. He could do more searching later. Even with the wine he was aching more and more. After glancing at the corner where he'd spent the night, he turned his attention to the captains' bed. He suspected he might end up there eventually whether he wanted to or not. Might as well try it on for size. He pulled back only one of the blankets and slipped underneath, laying on his back and letting his eyes drift closed. 

*

It was late afternoon when Dean walked back into his quarters. He wasn't sure what he'd expected but when he pushed the screen aside, he was surprised to see Sam sprawled on his bed. A glance at the table told him that bread and cheese had been served for lunch but that Sam had slept through it. For the first time, the young man appeared to be completely at ease. It seemed his mouth naturally curved into a slight smile in that state. Dean remembered watching his mother sleep when she was too tired to listen to his chatter. There was a family resemblance after all. He didn't like how that made him feel, not at all. 

Fishing the scroll Alfred had given him out of his pocket, he walked back to his desk and sat down. He quickly penned his own note to Lord Governor Winchester, rolled and slipped it inside the bigger one, sealed the scroll and neatly tied a ribbon around it. Then he sat down and poured himself a drink. Taking a deep breath, his gaze was drawn once again to Sam's face. The swelling had gone down but the bruising was still there. Dean's jaw hardened. It was Sam's fault. He'd warned him. Maybe now he'd realize that he was not home, among friends and servants falling over their feet to do his bidding.

Sam slowly opened his eyes and felt someone watching him. Turning his head a bit, he was unsurprised to find the captain there, those cold eyes on him. "Am I really that fascinating to watch?" Sam asked as he pushed himself upright, trying to hide the aches that filled him. He twisted around so his feet were on the floor. "I hope I have not overstepped my bounds by laying in your bed, but you indicated last night that I might."

"You don't fool me, with your conciliatory and polite words." He could still see rebellion brewing in Sam's eyes, and even in what he said, not meaning a word of it and probably mentally cursing him. "Still, it's better that than fighting your destiny. Fight and I will hand you over to your father a broken man." The silence stretched between them until he waved toward the dining table. "A hot meal will be served shortly. We'll be docking in a few hours and someone will come aboard to witness your good health. He will take the ransom demand to your father."

Sam debated about staying silent but the captains' words irked him. "Pray tell Captain, what am I trying to fool you into believing? That I am trying to befriend you? You are my captor and have made it perfectly clear I am lower than the dung that horses tread upon in the street. Polite words?" Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Well if you want me to be talking like yer crew, I can hawk a good spit, and be rude and lewd as any man aboard," he said, giving good mimicry of the crew's speech and body language. He and Gabe had snuck into harbor taverns often enough where Sam couldn't act like someone who didn't belong. He got called out on it sometimes, but usually he managed to fit in. "I know you don't wish to believe it, but I believe any person is deserving of polite words unless they prove unworthy. You...you are getting them because you are my captor and I don't want to be beaten into unconsciousness again." He shrugged. "If you would rather I act in some other fashion, I will do my best, but this is me when I am permitted to act like myself. As for fighting?" Sam's eyes darkened. "No promises. That depends on your treatment of me. And whatever this destiny is that you have in mind for me. Care to tell me what my destiny is, Captain?" 

It was just as Dean had thought and Samuel couldn't hide his spirit even for a few moments at a time. "No, I don't believe that about you at all, because I know better. You save up your polite words for those who are like you. Rich. Spoiled. Father's only heir, to be pampered. Everyone else is the dung under your boot. Except when you've been brought down a notch or two, and then your survival skills force you to speak those pretty words." He raised a hand. "Do not contradict me. I am many things. Killer. Thief. Your worst nightmare, but I don't lie. It's a point of honor," he spread his hands, then rested them on his thighs.

"Don't forget rapist," Sam added to Dean's list of what he was. "I do not 'save up' polite words," Sam growled. "My best friend was an orphan from the streets. He showed me his world and it was terrible and wrong, but with my _father_ ," he practically spat the word, "I dared not ever step out of line in public when he or his spies were about." Sam measured him, his eyes growing hard. "You are wrong about me Captain. I see I will not convince you of that, but know that you _are_ wrong. You can beat me, fuck me, starve me, and lash me to the masthead again. It won't change the fact that I have vowed I will never become the evil bastard my father is. I am not perfect, and I have had advantages of wealth, but unlike many of my class, I do not look down upon an honest man trying to earn an honest wage. I respect and admire him, for it is a hard world." Sam raised his chin slightly. If the Pirate King wanted to beat him for talking to him like that, then he would take that punishment but he would not back down from him about this, at least not in the privacy of the captain's quarters where the captain did not have to save face in front of his men for being back talked to.

Dean's eyes narrowed at being corrected, but the rest of what Sam said had him slightly amused. "Such a pretty little liar, and clever too. You're distancing yourself from your father because you think it's what I want to hear. What is it they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend? Except I _know_ you are made in your father's mold. And if even half of what you say is true about your friend, I suspect you mean one of your servants. Someone you grew up with, someone who took care of you or of your needs because he had no choice. That doesn't count. Not any more than you doing anything to please me, not that I would mistake that for an act of friendship. Survival. Making the best of it... but not friendship." Once again, he indicated with a wave of his hand that Sam should sit at the table, and got up from behind the desk, to do so himself.

Sam stood and slowly moved to the table. "Gabriel was not a servant. He worked in the stables. I got him that job." Sam was silent a moment as memories of Gabriel assaulted him. Settling at the table and pulling the chains around so they were a bit more comfortable, Sam stared at the table, rubbing his finger along a scarred spot. His voice turned soft. "I was eleven. He was nine. My 'friends' and I were in beggar's town. There were five of us. He was begging. My friends started making fun of him." Sam smiled a little then. "Gabe had a smart mouth at times, didn't take any shit from people unless he had to. He could twist words so you weren't sure if you were being complimented or insulted. Usually if he got smart with someone, he was able to make an escape. My friends jumped him though and starting beating him. I told them to stop it, to leave the...mongrel...alone. But when I saw my father's carriage, I...I joined in. I left after administering a few blows and calling Gabe horrible things. Dropped some coin as if that would make it right. Father praised me, there was pride in his eyes, but it didn't change that I felt horrible and dirty and...and like all the things I'd called the beggar-boy.

"It took me a week to get up the nerve, but I finally went back down and hunted for him. When I found him, he still looked pretty rough from the beating. I apologized, told him how sorry I was. I gave him every last coin in my purse, told him I knew it wouldn't make up for what my friends and I did but it was all I could offer in apology. I told him there was a job open for a stable boy at my home and that I'd make sure he was hired if he wanted the job." Sam looked up at the Pirate King and a small smirk pulled at his lips. "He punched me and called me quite a few names that I didn't even know the meaning of at the time, but I knew they weren't compliments." Sam's attention returned to the table. "I left but told him I meant it, that the job was his if he wanted it. A week later he showed up and became one of our stable boys. I'd come out and watch him, and pretty soon I was helping him with his chores. He didn't know how to ride, but I convinced the stable master that Gabe would be good at exercising the horses. I taught him how to ride and got one of the other hands to teach him how to drive a coach." Sam smiled, staring off at nothing. "He wasn't exactly a natural at it but he loved the horses, worked hard and learned. We'd get into so much mischief together. I taught him to read and write. He taught me how to hustle coin on the street." 

Sam's smile slipped away and he glanced briefly at the captain. "He was not my friend because he had to be. And he made me a much better man than I ever would have been without him. He taught me the value of people, not coin." Sam fell silent then. He was certain the Pirate King didn't give a shit in the first place, and wouldn't believe him in the second place. The way Sam's throat constricted and his chest felt tight, he wished now he had never brought Gabriel up. His stomach grumbled noisily, ready for the hot meal the captain promised him.

Everything Sam said was counter to what Dean had seen with his own eyes. He'd been on the receiving end of Sam's supposed _kind_ disposition and had suffered for the crimes of trying to meet his own brother, and for saving his worthless life. There had been no one there that day urging Sam to jeer and to refuse the small compensation Dean had needed for damaging the goods he'd been carrying. He gave a slow clap. "Bravo, that was a fine performance." His gaze shifted momentarily to the door when Alfred walked in with a cart, then started to load the table up with food. "The best liars put as much truth as they can into their lies. You've given your _friend_ , the stable hand, your own personality. Someone who can twist words?" Moving back as a plate was set before him, he waited for Alfred to pour two glasses of wine. "Tomorrow night, Samuel will entertain the men after dinner. He will regale them with tales, since he has a way with storytelling."

"Best have a few tales ready, in case they don't like the first one, Sir," Alfred told Sam as he poured wine into his glass. 

Sam's face turned stony. "As you wish, Captain," he said stiffly. "Thank you Alfred, but best you not call me 'sir.' I doubt the Captain approves of it." He looked at neither the cabin boy or the captain, waiting until Dean began to eat and drink before he touched anything on his plate. He had lost his appetite, but he knew the value of food and suspected the Captain would react badly to him pushing the plate away. Likely he wouldn't be fed for a few days if he did that and Gabriel wouldn't approve of Sam not eating. The meal, he had to admit, was good. "You've a fine cook, sir," Sam said. "Is there dessert, or would that be me?"

Drumming his fingers on the table, Dean waited for Alfred to leave the room. "Why are you baiting me? Do you enjoy punishment?" There was now no doubt in his mind that he was being goaded into action, but why? Either that or despite his education and seeming cleverness, Sam was a fool.

Sam gave a soft snort. "Habit," he muttered. After taking a sip of wine he gave a shrug and looked at the man. "Forgive me, Captain. First time I've ever been in chains and held for ransom. I guess the protocols weren't taught to me." He cut off a bit of meat and ate it, then waving his fork about, inquired, "How am I supposed to behave?" He stabbed some of the vegetables. "So far you've attacked my ship, threatened everyone on board because of me, have some grudge against me and my family that you're obviously upset that I have no clue about. You demand a ransom I don't know if my father can produce, demand my mother's jewelry, the only thing I have of hers, and my father's ring with the family crest. You've beaten me, chained me, and raped me." He brought the forkful of food to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Oh, and tied me to the masthead for half a day. You tell me if I fight, you'll break me. You believe nothing that I say, you mock me, and _you_ bait me constantly. You've told me you have no mercy to give. Am I supposed to remain the blubbering cowering mass I was last night? Sorry. You'll not see me as such again. Mind you, I've no doubt you can use your cutlass and make me scream and beg. Or feed me to your crew with much the same results. I've no doubt that given time, you can break me, make me jump at my own shadow and every sound I might hear or imagine I hear." Sam's gaze grew steely. "I do not know your intent. As I am still in your quarters and chained, I can only assume you want me for your continued amusement, for your whipping boy, and for your sex slave. My apologies if my wit is biting and my words irk. Tell me what you want from me, Captain. Perhaps I can attempt a charade that might even please a cold, heartless man such as yourself." 

Sam stared at him. If this were his father he'd be back fisted clean out of his chair. This man's temper was as bad if not worse than his father's so he wouldn't be surprised if the Captain beat him again, or took the food and wine from him, or stomped off in a great huff of foul moods. Sam just didn't really care at the moment. Maybe a part of him was trying to goad the captain into killing him. At least then the pain of losing Gabriel might finally end.

"What I want is a peaceful meal in my quarters without your backtalk. I will have it -- one way or the other." There was a steely undertone to his words. "As for your complaints." His gaze fell to the metal bracelets at Sam's wrists and the long chains. "You have the freedom to walk around. A privy. A soft bed to sleep on. Food. Wine. A little gratitude might be in order." Dean's hand closed around his wine goblet. "Believe me, it's far better than being pressed into service, chained to your seat, whipped whether you do your work or not, get to eat a crust of bread once in a while if you fight for it and it isn't taken from you, and to be in constant fear of drowning if the ship goes down." When he'd found the courage to do it, Dean had run away to the sea and found he'd gone from one hell to another hell. It had taken a long time before he climbed his way up to a better life. 

Blinking away the past, Dean focused on Sam. "You're free to choose that, if you prefer. I can have you chained in the hull. You'll have rats for company, or maybe they'll be your _dessert_ when you get hungry enough. Say the word and that will be your fate." Lifting the glass to his mouth, Dean drank.

Sam grimaced. "It is easy to lose perspective. Which you have just returned. You have fed me well, given me a small measure of freedom, and protected me from the unwanted attention of your crew. I did assume I would be chained below with naught but some dirty water, moldy bread, and rats for companions. I will attempt to curb my tongue, Captain. I would much prefer your quarters to down below. Thank you." Sam returned his focus to his dinner, hoping that for once the captain believed he was sincere. 

Giving a noncommittal nod, Dean broke off a piece of bread and dipped it into his stew. Even if the words were lip service, all he demanded was Sam's obedience. Then there was the fact that Sam's question left him confused. _What do you want from me, Captain?_ Vengeance. An eye for an eye. But what beyond that? In some moments, he felt very much like the thirteen year old following his brother, waiting for the chance to have a word with him. He remembered that excitement and fear, that hope. He could accept that the hopes had been dashed, but not everything else. "Your Miss Peden, I assume it is not a love match. She wants your title, you want more wealth."

Sam looked up, surprised, then shook his head. "Never met her. I haven't any idea what she looks like, if she has a half-pence worth of intelligence, nothing. Father arranged it because the family fortune as it were, isn't much of a fortune any more. The Pedens are wealthy and have a good distribution system in England. It's a good business move for both of the families. I have no idea what Miss Peden herself might want. I imagine, like me, she's had no say in the matter. Father is adamant that there needs to be little Winchesters running about as soon as possible to ensure the continuation of the Winchester name." Almost under his breath he added, "Serve him right if we have all girls." Sam sipped more of the wine. "What about you? Alfred gave me the impression you aren't married."

 _Little Winchesters._ Dean remembered being all dressed up and guests coming to the house to see the new little Winchester. His mother and father were dressed up too, though his mother reclined on the chaise lounge. He remembered her saying something about regretting she'd likely never have any girls. He hadn't understood back then that she didn't think she would get better, or perhaps she only meant she was unlikely to be able to give birth again. He let out a breath, then gave a shrug. "I'm married to the Vengeance. What else could I want? She gives me freedom, not chains," he said pointedly. 

Same looked around the quarters. "I envy you that. I had wanted to go to the University, but Father forbid it. I wanted to be a physician. I've studied all the books I've managed to smuggle past Father, and I've tended the servants and taken instruction from the midwives on births and fevers and such. I've even seen a little boy born. It was...messier...than I expected." Sam chuckled. "But it was also amazing."

"Tell me about these... servants." He was fishing for information about the ones he knew. His nanny, who he'd loved. Sometimes he'd wondered what she thought about his disappearance, what story his father might have told. No doubt she'd lavished her attention on Sam, just one more thing that Dean envied. Before Sam answered him, there was a firm knock and Rufus walked in.

"We've spotted a ship, Captain."

Pushing his plate away, Dean got up and grabbed his hat. In a few strides, he was out of the room with Rufus hard on his heels.


	3. Chapter 3

There hadn't been a confrontation with the other ship and Dean had decided to go forward with the plan of docking at a pirate friendly port. Pirates brought a lot of business to the town and paid a port fee, so it was a mutually beneficial relationship. After docking, he stayed on deck and ordered that Sam be brought out along with the ransom scrolls. His own scroll demanded that Lord Governor Winchester personally come to deliver the ransom and collect his heir.

The men gathered on deck where the quartermaster passed out their wages. There was a lot of jesting and lewd jokes about the services to be purchased and women to be bedded. Drinks flowed freely, contributing to the merriment of those about to go ashore. 

Rufus stood up on a crate and called the men and few women to attention. "The ship will leave port at dawn. Any man who is not aboard will be left behind and forfeit his share. There will be no plundering at this port. Any man who plunders shall suffer punishment." He looked over at the Captain, then back at the crowd. "Forty lashes. There will be no cheating, any man who is caught cheating will suffer twenty lashes. There will be no killing. Any man who kills will be turned over to the port authorities to be hanged, or will be marooned with a bottle of rum."

There were some jokes about there being nothing else a marooned man could want. They'd heard the rules before.

"Any man who meddles with any woman or man without consent shall suffer death at the end of a hanging rope. Now, go forth and ..."

Even before Rufus finished his speech, there were whoops and the crew rushed for the gang plank.

Of the fifty seven crew, twenty stayed back, including the Captain.

Sam watched as the men raced off the ship. Yeah, by the time he would have arrived in England, he would have been buggy to get off the damned ocean and onto land. Days with nothing to do but read and look at the ocean always drove him crazy. During his various ocean crossings he had occassionally managed to learn a bit from the crew. He knew his knots and could help raise a sail. He understood the basics of sailing. The one time he had gone below to investigate the canons, he picked up a canon ball just as the wind shifted and dropped it, breaking his foot. After that, he decided he would leave the canons to the professionals, never mind that he'd only been ten.

"Captain, since you want someone to see and judge my health, wouldn't it be best if I changed into fresh clothes?" He looked down at his bloody shirt 

"By all means, go put on one of your pure-as-snow shirts," Dean pointed at a crew member and then at Sam. The man went to unshackle Sam, this time taking the bracelets off rather than merely unchaining the shackles, then he and another crew member escorted Sam back to the stairs leading to the captain's quarters. 

Rufus waited until Sam was taken away then spoke to Dean in a low voice. "The men are asking questions about him. What are we doing here?"

Dean looked at him. "They have no right to question. I gave up my share and he is mine to do with as I will."

Nodding, Rufus raised his hand but plowed on. "No one is questioning your rights. It's the situation. He's being treated both worse and better than captives we've held for ransom. And you... You're not acting like yourself. I know your reasons, they do not."

Slamming his fist on the railing, Dean answered. "They have no need to know a damned thing. He's being held for ransom. They'll get their share when it gets paid. If they want out, I'm not stopping them. I'll get a new crew--"

Rufus touched the Captain's arm. "You're letting your hate rule you. I've told you before, it might destroy you."

"There's nothing to destroy," Dean answered with complete conviction, then slapped Rufus' back. "Bring the messenger aboard, and then go get yourself a woman, if you can trick any of them into bedding you."

"Trick, hah. My cock is legendary," Rufus answered as he headed for the gang plank.

 

*

Sam made sure to study the key that unlocked his manacles. They were in port and wouldn't be leaving until the morn. It was a good bet most of the crew would be into their cups tonight. As Sam went through his trunks to select fresh clothing he carefully palmed a brooch that decorated one of his overcoats. After changing out of his dirtied clothes, he hid the brooch in his boot. With any luck, he'd be on his way tonight. He had no intentions of returning home or heading to England. He would finally be free to live his own life even if he had to start out with owning nothing but the set of clothes he wore.

Sam gave the men no trouble as they led him back outside and down to the main deck, docilely letting them re-shackle him. He saw a man come aboard, escorted by Rufus. The Captain handed the man the ransom scrolls then led the man over to Sam. The stranger was lean, muscular and had deeply tanned skin. His nose had a bit of a hook to it and his eyes seemed a little too far apart.

The man looked Sam over. "Your name," he snapped. His voice was rough and had a nasal twang.

"Lord Samuel Winchester, son of the Lord Governor Winchester of Lawrence, taken from the fair ship Destiny against my will by this ship and its crew."

"And how have you been treated?"

"It's in my letter to my father. I believe if the ransom demands are met, I will be released alive and intact. Unless I continue to irritate the captain which I seem to be very good at. I am given plenty of food, water and wine. I'm kept shackled in quarters, but protected from the weather, able to move about, and a clean bed has been provided to me. If my father fails to meet the ransom," Sam glanced at the Pirate King, "then I suspect my life will be forfeit."

The man studied Sam's face. "You've been beaten."

"Yes. The Captain and I had a disagreement. He won."

The man smirked. "It's not wise to be pissing off the Pirate King, Lad. Learn your place and keep your mouth shut, and you'll get home safely." He turned to Dean. "I'll get this to the lad's father right away, Captain. Assuming all goes well, I'll see you at the exchange location on the designated day at the designated time."

"You tell the Governor he's to be on board at the time of the exchange. If he sends someone else, I _will_ know, and he won't have a second chance to save his son. If he leaves any of the jewelry I've asked for behind, I _will_ know. One chance, it is all he has."

"I will convey the message."

At Dean's nod, Rufus escorted the messenger off the ship. "I've given him eight days to raise the ransom," Dean said. "He'll need to liquidate assets. It's not enough time to get the gold from the Pedens, unless the dowry has already been paid." That thought left him unhappy. "Has it?" he demanded.

Sam shook his head. "No, the dowry was to be paid when I arrived in England....Captain, I told you few pieces of my mother's jewelry are left. I doubt my father can re-acquire those he sold. And thrice my weight in gold....I don't know that my father can gather that much gold in eight days. His fortunes have been poor over the past years, but then you know that as you've targeted his cargo again and again. He may well consider me not worth the gold and take on a new bride to bear him new heirs....If he does not show, or comes with less than your demands," Sam swallowed hard, knowing it was more likely than the Pirate King thought, "can we come to some measure of agreement to spare my life? I am strong and know a little something of sailing, and will learn that which I do not know to be useful to you and your crew. I would work hard....Please, Captain, consider my offer of servitude in exchange for my life." He stared at the man, hopeful his hate of the Winchesters would not be so great that Sam would be killed outright if his father failed to pay the ransom. Best he work on the Captain now to plead his case rather than to wait and try to sway an infuriated man whose plans came to naught.

"Replace you?" Giving a bitter laugh, Dean ran the back of his hand down Sam's cheek, down the curve of his neck and along his shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "No. Not you, with your perfect skin unmarked by the hand of the devil. He would not give you away, you're the only thing he has left of M... of his wife. He will beg, borrow or steal, but he will meet my terms. And then he'll have nothing left. Nothing." A satisfied but grim smile crossed his features, "and you, little Lord Winchester, you'll learn what it is to work to earn your bread. Or you'll be whored out to the Pedens or some other rich family. But it won't help you or your father, because bad fortune will follow you and your business ventures until I have drawn my last breath. That," he stabbed his finger into Sam's white silk clad shirt, "is a promise."

Sam flinched back from the man's touch, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the Captain's words and their implications. "I do not fear hard work. I have spent many many days in the stables at Gabriel's side. I did his chores when he was sick or injured and if I were forced to do them every day to feed myself, then that is what I would do. But why do you hate me and my family? Whatever wrong my father did to you, I am sorry for, and sorry for whatever I may have done as well but what is past is past and I can not makes amends. Why are you my family's personal demon? Who are you, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Grabbing Sam's throat in an iron grasp, Dean shoved him against the post and was in his face. "You know my name and yet you pretend you don't know me?" he demanded, tightening his grip and cutting off Sam's air for a moment. "You deny my existence, just like your father." A muscle worked in his cheek as he fought the urge to beat Sam to a pulp for reducing him to the status of nobody, once again. Maybe Sam thought he was dead? But he knew his name, so how could he not know they were brothers? Was it that he didn't accept Dean had 'come back from the dead?' 

Slowly, Dean eased his grip. His nostrils flared as indecision warred inside him. "You beg so prettily for your life now, but the last time I saved your worthless hide, I paid for it, and paid, and paid, and paid. And you don't even remember me." Shoving Sam back one last time by the throat, Dean walked away without a backward glance.

Sam gasped for air. Between the way his heart thumped in his chest in fear, and the way his lungs wanted the air denied them, he had trouble understanding Dean's words. Then the captain was gone, joining his crew across the deck, pounding back the first mug of ale given him like it was water. Sam turned Dean's words over and over in his mind. ...not give you away...deny my existence...saved your life... Other memories he pulled from the depths of his mind. 

He had been playing with his favorite doll, a raggedy man with yarn for hair, dressed like a soldier. He tugged and pulled off the coat, threads breaking. He stared at the word embroidered so carefully on the doll's chest. "Dee-Eee-Ah-En. De-awn. De-an," Sam worked out slowly. He ran to his nanny, tugging on her skirt. "Who is De-an, Miss Sophie?" he'd asked, pointing at the name on his doll.

A slight gasp left her lips and she quickly took the doll from him. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she seemed upset. "No-one, dear Samuel," she said, her voice cracking. "You never saw this. You will not speak to you father of it. You will never say Dean's name in his presence." She took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Do you understand me, Samuel? Never. This doll was...was made by your mother. Dean was...Dean is a family name. Her father's father. I made the coat." She released Sam and smoothed down the doll's hair as she pulled the coat back on it and got out the needle and thread. "So precious. He was so precious to her. But your father..." she shook her head as tears dripped down her cheeks, splashing onto the doll she held. She hastily wiped the tears away and gave Sam a watery smile. "Our secret, little Lord Winchester. That this doll was kept, that I gave it to you, that Dean's name is here. Do you understand? He will take away your doll and beat you and beat me if ever he learns of it."

Sam's eyes were wide and he nodded. "The letter blocks. The 'D', 'E', 'A', and 'N' are extra pretty. Were they his too, Miss Sophie?"

She sat down and nodded, setting the doll aside for a moment and pulling Sam into her lap. "Lord Dean was very special Samuel."

"As special as me?" Sam asked.

She laughed and touched her finger to his nose. "Yes. He was kind and loving, and adored his family, especially his little brother Samuel."

"I'm named after Momma's....uncle?" Sam said after thinking a minute.

"Her father, your grandpa was named Samuel. Dean Campbell was your great-grandpa. He was French. But we don't tell anyone that either."

"My great grandpa had a little brother named Samuel?"

Miss Sophie smiled. "You ask too many questions, child. Let me fix your doll and no more tearing off the coat. Remember, it's a secret what's under it. No one but us can know."

"Yes, Miss Sophie."

"And you will never say Dean's name..."

"...In front of Father," Sam said, his eyes big and he crossed his finger over his heart. "I promise."

"Such a good boy," she said with a smile.

Sam had found Dean's name in other places, on other toys and in a book. He would show Miss Sophie in secret and always promise never to tell his father. Miss Sophie passed from fever when Sam was barely eight and he never shared the secret with anyone else. He had never liked the governess that his father hired to replace Miss Sophie. Mrs. Brownsville was always so stern with him and never smiled at him like Miss Sophie had. 

Sam struggled to recall when anyone had saved his life. Mr. Andrews had saved him from being trampled by a horse once. And Mr. Jameson at the warehouse. He thought hard, but no other time came to him.

...deny my existence...give you away... Was Dean...was Dean not a cousin but...a brother? Maybe illegitmate? One that his father had given away? Why? Why would his father do that? ...perfect skin, unmarked by the devil's hand... His father was a superstitious man, carried a lucky coin, paid fortune tellers, believed in witches and curses and the Evil Eye. Sam sank down to the deck. He had a feeling if he asked Dean, that it wouldn't end well for him. Just now, he'd narrowly escaped getting beaten half to death again, and common sense advised him to let the questions be. He watched for a long while as the crew and captain made merry, drinking, dancing, playing music as the day turned to night. Looking down at his shackles, he knew it was now or never.

Discreetly he retrieved the brooch from his boot. Watching the crew closely, he went to work on picking the locks of his shackles. He had to stop periodically as Dean's attention would drift over to him and he suspected Dean would start watching him more and more closely the drunker he got. He finally got the first shackle unlocked and had to hide his jubilation. The second shackle seemed to open easily on the heels of the first. Waiting until after Dean's attention had returned to him and then had gone back to the crew, Sam made his move. Fearing he would be too easily spotted if he tried to take the gangplank to shore, he crept to the side of the ship. Gripping the railing, he slid over the side, then dropped into the cold water. Surfacing, he grinned, got his bearings, and started to swim toward a nearby ship. He'd go around it and then come ashore, disappearing into the night and freedom.

*

Dean was working himself up to teaching that bastard brother of his a lesson. Between the liquor and remembering over and over the way Sam had ever so casually called him by name and then denied his birthright to his face, he was getting to that point fast. Twist words. Make them sound innocent. Cut like a knife, yeah, that was Sam to a tee. There was no Gabriel, Sam had been describing himself alright. And naturally he wouldn't admit Dean was his older brother... if he did that, he'd lose everything, he'd lose the title that was the lure for a rich wife. Then again, if it were known that Dean was the Pirate King, it would be declared that Dean was a criminal subject to death and the title would pass to Sam anyway. Not that Dean wanted it, not anymore. The only thing he wanted was those two men to admit who he was and pay for every wrong they'd visited on him. And then he could put the past behind, really put it behind.

He turned his head, cocked it and stood up. It was impossible, but the shackles were on the ground. "He's gone! You three, on the docks, you two, search the ship. Castelli, stay at the gangplank," he called out, picking up one of the large oil lamps and running toward the railing. Others were already searching the waters.

"Captain... there!" One of the men pointed.

Dean saw a head bobbing in the water and cursed. Of course, their father had insisted that they know how to swim. He started to climb the railing.

"Captain, we'll get him when he comes asho--"

Cold water seemed to clear some of the alcohol induced haze from Dean's mind. He targeted Sam, and started to swim with long, practiced strokes, steadily gaining on him. The calls of his men, their shouts for Sam to stop, was carried by the wind, but Dean said nothing, conserving his energy. A few more long strokes and he threw his arm over Sam's shoulder, hooking his neck, then kicked back, swimming backwards and dragging Sam with him. 

Sam pulled at Dean's arm, startled by it, struggling and flailing, but while he was a decent swimmer, he'd never actually fought in the water and had no idea how to escape Dean's hold. Anything he tried only resulted into the pirate's arm tightening more around his throat. He finally stopped struggling. "I yield," Sam gasped out, his voice rough and hardly above a whisper. "No trouble. My word. Can't...breathe..." 

Loosening his hold only slightly, Dean angrily kept swimming, not caring that some of the waves slapped Sam in the face and left him coughing. When he neared the Vengeance, a rope was thrown down. Pulling the loop, he slipped it over Sam's body, and let him go while the others pulled Sam up. Meanwhile, he swam to the rope ladder they'd thrown over for him, and started climbing.

The rope was painful around Sam's chest but at least the captain hadn't thrown it around his neck, Sam thought as he hacked and coughed, trying to get the seawater out of his lungs. They lowered him to the deck where he collapsed, still coughing. He was surrounded but no one made a move on him which surprised him. Then again, the Captain had claimed him so maybe no one else was permitted to touch him unless he tried something and at this point, he didn't see the use. He suspected that had been his one and only chance; the captain would likely not give him another. He was on all fours, still coughing when he saw the black boots of the Pirate King in front of him. Looking up into the man's grim face, he wondered if he'd still be alive come morning. "Had to try," Sam said, his voice raspy.

Bending over, Dean grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and pulled his head back. "Did you think you could get away from me? That I would let you slip from my fingers? Did you think you would get off lightly because you are a gentlemen?" he asked his questions in a cool, silky tone. "I told you, you're no one here. You're nothing." Still holding onto his hair, Dean suddenly kicked under Sam's body, making contact with his stomach, lifting him up and sending him flying onto his back. He followed, grabbed him up by his shirt, and punched his face, and kicked again, making Sam roll closer to the whipping post. Another couple of steps, and this time, he grabbed the back of Sam's shirt, pulled him to his feet and hung onto the shirt after a kick to Sam's ass sent Sam falling toward the pole. The back of the shirt tore clear off Sam's body. 

"Tie him up and get the whip," Dean snapped, wiping the water off his face. 

Sam fell against the pole and looked up to the ring where he knew his hands would be bound. Two crew grabbed him. "Wait. I won't fight. Just let me take off the remnants of my shirt." He looked at one of the men. "Would you raise the height of the ring a bit, please." The two men looked at each other, one shrugging. The men released Sam. Sam pulled off his shirt and cast it aside, then took off his belt and threw it aside as well. He reached up and took hold of the ring. "One more peg up, if you would."

The crewmember worked the band the ring was attached to a little higher and slid the peg in. He looked at Sam whose arms were now stretched above his head. Sam gave a nod. "You don't need to tie me. I won't let go of the ring."

"You won't keep your feet with the Captain at you," the man said.

Sam gave a smirk. "A guinea says I will."

"You ain't got a guinea."

"I'll find a way to get one to you."

The crewmember looked to his captain. "He's says he won't let go sir, that we don't need to tie him. Bets a guinea that he'll keep his feet. What say you sir?"

"I say if he's standing after twenty lashes, the punishment is over. If he lets go, I'll dunk him in the salt water and he'll take twenty more. And he'll owe you the guinea," Dean answered, giving Sam a predatory look. By the time he was done with him, the thought of ever trying to cross him would never enter his brother's mind. He put his hand out to take the braided leather whip being handed to him.

Taking a few steps back, he had to admit he was surprised that Sam wasn't a shaking mess or even pissing his pants. Even a brave man, or a pirate used to the bite of the whip, would show some trepidation. Instead, Sam quietly closed his fingers around the ring and stood back from post, exactly as he'd have been ordered to if he hadn't done so of his own accord. But Dean had already seen him sob and so he was sure he would be sobbing by the end of his flogging. 

Lifting his arm, Dean tested the whip and then let the first lash fly across Sam's back. The man wasn't crying out yet, but he would be, he would. Raising his hand again, he brought the whip down again, and again, his men counting down, jeering and making their own side bets about when Sam would start yelling for mercy and when he would fall to his knees.

Sam wasn't permitted to yell or scream or beg during a whipping. He was only allowed to do one thing, so he did. He began praying to God, stating the punishment was just for his grave errors, begging God to forgive him his sins and asking God to aid in the punishment, praying that the devil would be whipped out of him, making him a righteous man once again who followed the laws of God and respected and honored his elders. He flinched, sometimes gasped and faltered in his prayer, but it only made him pray harder and louder. He didn't hear the crew counting down, he didn't hear their taunts. He heard only his own prayers, the Latin spilling forth with hardly a thought. He had had a great deal of practice with this particular prayer after all. He waited for the next blow as he continued to pray, his knuckles white as they clutched the ring.

Dean's arm rose steadily, laying the lashes in a criss-cross pattern on Sam's back. The moonlight wasn't sufficient to see by, but he was sure that by now, not only were there welts, but he'd broken skin. Lines of shiny blood were visible, and yet the bastard wouldn't shout, wouldn't give up or fall to his knees. The prayers confused Dean. Many prayed during punishment, but none prayed _for_ punishment. He had to believe it was yet another ploy, and struck harder, sweat dripping down his already wet brow. 

"Eighteen... nineteen... twenty!"

Breathing hard, Dean dropped the whip to the ground, glaring at Sam who still clung to the ring, using it to hold himself up, but barely so. Money exchanged hands and there were some jests about the Captain having lost his touch. If he himself hadn't been weilding the whip, Dean would have suspected cheating... that the punisher was not putting his back into it. 

"Water," he nodded at one of the men to get it for Sam.

Sam's eyes were squeezed shut and he continued his prayers, assuming his father was only taking a break before the whipping continued. He felt the mug pressed to his lips and someone told him he could let go now, it was over, and to drink the water. It took a minute for Sam to force his fingers to uncurl from the ring. With shaking hands he took the mug and sipped it, the cup shaking so badly in his hands that he probably spilled more down the front of him than he actually managed to drink. 

"What are my orders, sir?" Sam asked, try to blink away the tears of pain and clear his vision. He swayed on his feet, feeling the warm liquid of his blood running down his back. Often his father made him get down on his knees and pray for another few minutes before sending him to his room where the servants would come tend his back.

Seeing Sam shaking and ready to fall the way he should have fallen at least eight lashes ago should have given Dean more satisfaction than it did. "Your orders are the same. Obey me," he said. "Take him to Doc."

"He's on shore leave."

Dean made a face. "Take him to my quarters. Alfred," the boy instantly appeared, "put something over my bed and get bandaging. Take a bottle of rum in."

"Aye Sir." Alfred ran ahead. 

One of the men held a guinea out to Sam, though he didn't look too happy about it.

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled. Staring at the coin blankly for a moment, he finally reached out, his breath hissing between his teeth, and took the coin. He clutched it in his hand. Someone was guiding him somewhere. Probably to his room. He was glad he didn't have to get down on his knees and pray more. He furrowed his brows as he was led up some stairs, then down a few and into a room he didn't recognize. Father must not want him in the comfort of his own room. A young boy was beside him and helped guide Sam down onto a bed covered with canvas. Sam cried out softly as he lowered himself onto his stomach, but then gripped the boy's wrist. "I dreamed Gabriel was...is Gabe okay? He is okay, isn't he?" Sam asked, his eyes glazed over in pain.

"Sir... I don't... I don't know any Gabriel." Alfred looked at his wrist as the Captain walked in. 

"Did you bring the... Sam, release him," Dean commanded. Seeing the cabin boy had indeed brought the rum, he grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, then put it down and started stripping out of his wet clothes.

Sam immediately let go of the wrist of the servant. He laid his head down on the pillow and pulled his lower lip between his teeth, shutting his eyes as the pain wracked his body. He felt his fingers trembling and clenched them into a fist, trying to stop his trembling from the adrenaline and pain. "I need...I need my leather strap...for my teeth...while you're tending my back." Sam said to who ever was in the room. He hoped it wasn't his father. His father wouldn't approve of such weakness.

"Get my belt." When Alfred brought it, Dean pointed at the bed with his chin. "Put it down."

"Should I undress him, he's wet."

"No. Move the lamp next to the bed, then you're dismissed," Dean said, changing into loose pants but foregoing a nightshirt. 

Once Alfred did as he told him and left the room, Dean moved to the bed and sat down next to Sam. Tripling the belt, he gave it to Sam, frowning as he looked over the damage to his back. Suddenly, he wasn't surprised by evidence of prior scarring. This man had known exactly what to expect, how many lashes he could withstand and what came next. But how? Why? Father would never let anyone touch him. All Sam would have had to do was tell the Governor and his fawning father would rain retribution on the head of the party responsible for whipping his boy. No, Dean refused to feel pity. This was just curiosity, that's all. "You ready?"

Sam took the folded up leather and put it between his teeth and gave a nod. The tending to the lashing could be as bad as the lashing in his opinion. You knew each blow of the whip was excruciating, but then you had the next blow to help you forget the previous blows. And he could focus on the prayer he was forced to recite. Now, there would be nothing but throbbing pain, the wounds rinsed, alcohol poured across them, maybe some of them stitched if the blows had eaten into muscle. If he was lucky, he would pass out from the pain. He could hope, anyhow, but he doubted it. 

Tipping the bottle, Dean poured the rum over Sam's back, slowing a little when Sam started to writhe. He gave Sam a moment, and poured some more, then set the bottle down. Grabbing the linen strips Alfred had put out, he dipped a few into a bowl of water and started to clean away the blood. There were a few deep gashes, but most cuts had not gone too deep. That's why he'd kept his strokes even and spread out over every inch of flesh, giving Sam the type of whipping that would allow the person on the receiving end of the punishment to heal faster and get back to work. 

Eventually, Dean broke the silence, even though Sam couldn't answer him at the moment. "I don't understand. You're a free man. I know you've neither been indentured nor pressed into service. This doesn't make sense."

Sam was breathing hard, the leather clenched between his teeth as the servant tended his injuries. Hearing the man's comments, he reached up and pulled the leather from his mouth. "Father...is...strict. Do...not...cross...him. Do...not...tell him things...he does not...want to hear. But you...you are probably...safe. He rarely whips...servants unless they really...do something...wrong." Sam lay gasping for a few moments then asked, "Gabriel. Is Gabe okay?"

"Father does not whip his sons." At least his second born. He'd never whipped Dean either, not back then. It had all started to go downhill with Sam's birth, then Dean had somehow fallen from grace. And then his mother was gone and... He blinked away the sting of tears. "Who the fuck is Gabriel? There's no... you're hallucinating," he decided. Drying Sam's back off, he poured a little more alcohol over it, this time without a warning.

Sam tried to strangle back his scream as the alcohol spread across his back but wasn't as successful as he would have liked. "If Father hears me...please, don't do that again without telling me." He clenched his fists tighter, feeling the coin bite into his palm. "Father has whipped me since I was five." Sam tried to take deep breaths but it hurt. "Keep the devil out of me. If I ruin my clothes. If I give away money. If I do not do what he says....Gabriel. The stablehand. Blonde, tall, a smile that's like the sun. I dreamed...I dreamed father killed him. He is okay? Please tell me it was just a dream," Sam begged. He tried to recall what this whipping was for, but the pain was keeping his brain from thinking much beyond the present it seemed. 

"Shut up, just shut up." Dean got off the bed and walked away for a moment. He took a few deep breaths. Sam was lying again. Manipulating. That's all this was. There was no way ... He turned his head to see the scars under the new welts. There was no way that Lord Winchester would allow anyone to do this to his son, which left one option. He shook his head and went to get the wax thread and needle. When he returned, he stood there and stared down at the scars again. "You will tell me the truth, you will," he whispered, now unsure whether Sam was hallucinating or acting. 

He sat down and this time gently ran his hand over Sam's back, careful not to touch the open cuts but feeling the old scars. "I don't understand. I don't understand, Sam," he said again, a coldness blossoming in the pit of his stomach. 

"Don't understand what?" Sam mumbled. "That my Father is a cruel, evil bastard?" Sam's eyes were half closed at this point. "Gabe?" he asked. Most everyone called him Samuel. Gabriel always called him Sam or Sammy. He opened his hand, stretching his fingers a bit. Gabriel would take his hand if it was him. "That you, Gabe? Whatever I did to piss Father off, I hope it was worth it." 

Hesitating, Dean took Sam's hand and struggled with the conflicting feelings threatening to tear him apart. "No, there's no Gabe. It's me," he said thickly. "Dean. Just Dean." There was a long silence. "I have to close your wounds. You want some rum?" He wanted to snatch his hand back, use it to grab the rum, but Sam was holding it tight and ... and Dean was remembering the little boy in the cradle, the one who made him feel important and special, because he'd laugh at anything Dean did. What foolishness was this? He cleared his throat and started to take his hand back.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled, and something in his mind snapped open and a small sob escaped him. "Of course you're not Gabe. Gabe's dead. Father killed him." He squeezed Dean's hand just a moment then released it. "Yes. Rum. Please. You are a strange man, Captain. A very strange man."

"No stranger than a captive who jumps ship and... and makes bets when he's about to be whipped." Clearing his throat once more, Dean passed the bottle. "Drink as much as you need," he said, waiting until Sam was done swallowing. Taking it back, he took a few swallows and set it down on the nightstand. There was a mystery here, but at gut level, he knew he'd be better off not solving it. He had a plan. Long ago, when he might have lost his mind because of the things that were done to him, he'd set a course for himself and stuck to it. He'd even named his ship after his plan, and it had served him well. One goal, he reminded himself.

Sam loosened the death grip he had on the coin and rubbed it between his fingers. "I did, didn't I? Heh. If I fall during one of Father's punishments, I get tied to the ring and he starts back over from the beginning. If I pass out, he just waits for me to wake up. I didn't figure...I didn't figure you could be any worse. Though you are more...thorough...I think. Spread it out more. Good timing, too. You know just how long to wait in between for the most impact. More rum please?" He accepted the bottle and drank down as much as he could before handing it back. "Okay. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

He closed his eyes and slipped the leather back between his teeth as he felt the alcohol poured on his back once again and felt the needle pierce his flesh. Sam recited poetry in his head, counted to a hundred, said the alphabet backwards, anything to try to take his mind off of the pain. When Dean was tying off one set of stitches Sam accepted more alcohol and said, "Tell me a funny story or something."

Dean gave him a look, but didn't say anything. Letting Sam hold onto the bottle, he pinched Sam's separated flesh together and started to stitch again. He hadn't been planning on complying with the request but found the silence left him able to think too much and he didn't want to. "Ever hear of the Dread Pirate Roberts?" The low sound of denial from Sam had Dean continuing. "Well, in battle, he always wore a red shirt. As soon as a ship showed on the horizon, he would call out, 'cabin boy, get me my red shirt.' One day his men asked if he wore the shirt because it was lucky." Pulling the string through, Dean pierced flesh again. "Captain Roberts told them no, he wore the shirt because if he got hurt in battle, the other side would never know he was bleeding. He'd appear more fearsome, immune to their blows. Then, one lovely foggy morning, he found his ship surrounded by six royal frigates. His men looked at him, waiting for the usual command. This time, the Captain yelled, 'Cabin boy, get me my brown pants.'" With that, Dean leaned down to cut the string with his teeth.

Sam focused on Dean's voice and his words and it helped with the pain. With the punchline, he chuckled. "I'll get you a red shirt with the guinea I have. Somehow I don't think you would ever need brown pants though. Rather, I see you standing on the deck, your fist up in the air, and telling them to bring the battle on." He was silent a moment, then said, "Anyone ever tell you you're a damned fast swimmer? I really thought I'd gotten far enough away that I was going to beat you to shore. I never figured you'd catch up to me before I even reached the next ship." Sam's words were beginning to slur as he drank some more rum.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're damned strange?" Good humor and conversation was the last thing Dean would expect from anyone he'd just flogged within an inch of their life. And then to be complimented on a skill that was used to capture you? "Roll over part way," he said, helping Sam. He started to undo his wet trousers with the same efficiency as the night before, though he didn't want to think about that right now. It was where tonight would have gone, why he'd been drinking heavily before Sam jumped ship. 

"I think too much and ask too many questions," Sam answered gravely, nodding his head. "Gets me in trouble." He looked down at his groin where Dean was undoing his pants. "You tryin' t'get into my pants again? It's all fun and games until someone pulls out your stitches." He giggled suddenly, then groaned at the way it made his back hurt.

"No." Dean's voice cracked like the very whip he'd wielded. "I'm getting them off to protect my assets. Wouldn't do if you caught your death of cold or fever." He started to peel the material down Sam's legs, averting his eyes but recalling how he'd pushed Sam against the wall, how he'd wanted to hear him scream, break... break like he had. He wasn't sure anymore what he wanted, and he hated that feeling.

Sam blinked at him. "You just beat me on strange, methinks. You're suddenly shy?" Sam tsked. When Dean pulled off his boots, the brooch fell out. "There she blows!" Sam cried out. "That was my, uhm, key," he said sort of sheepishly. He helped Dean work his pants off and asked, "So we gonna sleep together?"

Slapping the brooch onto the table, Dean did a double take, then got up and pulled the covers on the other side down. "You chose the floor last night," he reminded, unsure what to do with Sam's sudden flirting, if he wasn't mistaken. Though he didn't understand it. "Inside."

Sam eased his way over to where Dean indicated, groaning and wincing until he was settled on his stomach, pillow scrunched up underneath his head. "G'night Captain Dean, the Pirate King." He giggled softly. "You rhyme." Almost as soon as he shut his eyes, he was softly snoring. 

It was a good thing no one was around to see the comical expression that crossed Dean's features as he mentally repeated the silly rhyme, then shook his head. 

Walking backwards, Dean went and sat at the chair behind his desk for a while. He looked at the rum, but was done with it for now. Reaching inside his drawer, he pulled out the necklace... his mother's. As he rubbed his fingers over its smooth stones, he tried to see her face. Over the years, it had gotten harder to dredge up her memory. The necklace did it, he could see her as clear as day. It made him both smile, and hurt. Unlike his father, she was quick to give praise and tell him she was proud of him. "What about now?" he asked, with a bitter twist of his lips. He knew what she'd think of her pirate son. He couldn't even imagine what she'd think about what he'd done. His gaze slid to Sam, but he quickly looked away.

Looking down at the jewels again, he got up and went to scroll case where his drawings were. Maybe he could make his drawing of her more accurate now that he had his mother's jewelry in hand. Selecting one of the scrolls, he unrolled it. He lips parted as he noticed subtle changes. The necklace had been fixed, but that wasn't all. The shape of her face was changed, corrected. His gaze slipped to Sam, but Sam couldn't possibly remember their mother. He ran his hand through his hair, looked at the drawing for another moment, clearly baffled, then put it away.

Letting out a loud sigh, Dean moved around, blowing out the two oil lamps, and then crawled into bed. He laid on his back, leaving a few inches between himself and Sam. He could feel his body heat and hear him breathing softly. Turning his head, he could see Sam's face by the moonlight coming through the round port window. Sam was out cold, probably due to exhaustion and liquor. Dean wondered if he'd glimpsed Sam's true personality in the moments before he'd fallen asleep. Playful, not stuffy and serious. There had been no signs of snobbery and Dean was starting to wonder whether he might really have rubbed elbows with this Gabriel fellow he called a stable hand, after all. Dammit, he wished he knew Sam better. He was usually a good judge of character but years of viewing his brother a certain way, being haunted by his words and actions, actions that had devastating effects on Dean's own life. . . it made Dean want to say Sam was a conniving bastard. That he'd set this whole thing up, that he'd been acting. 

Completely unsettled by questions he probably did not want answers to, it was a long time before Dean finally fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam groaned softly. His head pounded from a hangover, his muscles ached, and his back...his back felt swollen and shredded. That all amounted to one thing. He'd pissed his father off. He felt the heat of a body beside him and smiled, reaching out blindly, running his hand over the cloth that covered a muscular body. "Mmm, Gabe, you shouldn't be here. You'll get caught," he mumbled as he struggled awake, finding Gabriel's hand and bringing it to his lips.  
But the smells were wrong, the lighting was wrong...and that wasn't Gabriel's hand he was kissing. He let go of Dean's hand and felt a flush color his cheeks. Hopefully the Captain wasn't as light a sleeper as he had said.

The soft touch made Dean think he'd brought a woman on board, but when he opened his eyes, he found that it was Sam's warm lips that had kissed his palm. The palm of the hand that had wielded a whip just last night. Licking his lips, he looked at his palm and then back at Sam. "Went from a dream to a nightmare, didn't you?" He put his hand down, though it was still tingling. "You thought I was... your friend, Gabriel." He frowned for a moment, then asked, "Samuel, are you a sodomite?" That might explain the whippings by his father. Was that it?   
Sam closed his eyes a moment. He wanted to deny it, he didn't want to give any more reasons for abuse or taunts, but considering the Captain had raped him, the captain obviously wasn't one able to throw stones. "I have lain with a woman but only because Father took me to a house of ill repute to teach me the ways of women...but it is men that I find interest in. Father found me with Gabriel four months ago," Sam said. "He wasn't due back for another day but finished his business early. He beat Gabriel to death while his servants held me and forced me to watch. Me, he beat and whipped the worst he has ever whipped me before. I was unable to go out in public for two months. He started to arrange the marriage to Miss Peden within a week of Gabriel's death. I was not permitted to go anywhere alone after that and if I looked at any man, no matter how innocently, I was punished, though usually with little more than a cuff about the head." Sam was silent a moment then said softly, “Gabriel and I were in love. We were already talking about finding a woman for me to prevent any suspicion, but I was resistant, I thought I had a bit of time yet to select one who had no real interest in me and would not be against taking on a love of her own to satisfy her needs once children were produced. If I had chosen and courted a woman, Gabriel might well still be alive."

"Perhaps," Dean agreed. "Or you'd have been found out after marriage and the result would have been the same." He did not want to feel sympathy, he didn't want to feel anything, and yet the sadness that emanated from Sam was hard to ignore. "It's different on the high seas and at pirate colonies. Have you heard of matelotage?" At the slight shake of Sam's head, Dean explained, "It's similar to a marriage contract but is between men. One dies, the other gets his property. They share everything, live together. Non-sodomites in matelotage even share a wife or woman at times."   
"Isn't that the way of the world. A bit too little, a bit too late. I would have found a way for Gabriel and I to get to a place that had that had I know such a place and way existed. I would have done anything, given up anything, for him." Sam sighed. "Instead I am in a marriage contract to an unknown woman, held for a ransom that will make a pauper of my father--not that I mind, he deserves to taste that which he has wrought--and I really need to use the privy and am dreading getting to my feet. Would you be kind enough to aid me, Captain? Though stand ready, my stomach is not entirely certain that which is in it will remain within it. I would be deeply embarrassed to sully you in such a way and I would not wish for you to think I did so on purpose."

"You want revenge, because he killed your friend." That, Dean understood too well. "It's why you hate him now." That did not undo all the years before, or take away the things Sam was responsible for, he told himself as he got up. "See that you keep the contents of your stomach in, I won't take kindly to having to change yet again." Despite his gruff words, Dean was quite gentle in the way he helped Samuel out of bed and helped him keep his balance. "When he is reduced to nothing, your father, instead of replenishing his fortunes by using the Peden woman, you could leave him and see how well you like hard work." And then Dean would be done with the both of them and could let go of his obsession. His goals would be accomplished.

Sam winced and his breath hissed. "Do you not think I have attempted to leave? Do you think I enjoy getting whipped a few times a year for whatever reason my father finds? He has held the welfare of my friends in his hands to chain me to him. I don't mind hard work, how many times must I tell you that for you to believe me?" He steadied himself holding onto the edge of a table and swallowed back the bile in this throat. "Doesn't matter. I will find a way to deal with these things, as I always have. Even if," he looked at Dean, "I have my own personal demon trying to break me. Thank you for your assistance, Captain. I think I can manage now. If not, you'll hear my cry for help," he gave Dean a small smile and settled to tend to his business. 

Having too often heard he wore the devil's mark, Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's the moment he called him a demon. Was it more twisting of words? Sam had not called him brother yet, nor had he said 'our' when talking about his father. Was he truly unaware or was he that good an actor? Giving a non-committal grunt, Dean merely turned his back as he waited for Sam to piss.   
"You baffle me quite a bit, Captain," Sam said as he took care of what he needed to. "You are a paradox. One moment you want to hurt me deeply, the next, you are tending me. May I ask you a question without you growing furious with me? I don't really wish to face your wrath quite so soon this morn."

"I tended you because the doctor is not yet aboard. You're not worth anything if you're dead. Almost dead is another matter, and you drew punishment on yourself by attempting to escape." Hearing Sam approach, he turned and started to help him back to bed. "You shouldn't want to face my wrath at _any_ time of the day. Ask your question." 

"I only have to imagine you are Father, and then your wrath is much less daunting," Sam said off-handedly, gratefully accepting Dean's help back to the bed. "Alfred knew only your first name. The things you said last night, you implied we are related, yet the only Dean I have ever heard of was when I found that same name underneath the coat of my favorite doll and Miss Sophie told me it was a family name and to never speak of it to Father. My great grandfather, whom my mother loved quite dearly, she said was named Dean. Are we related? And if we are," he licked his lips, "are you my cousin?"

Dean searched Sam's face. Something surged within him and he wasn't sure whether it was pain or the need to do violence. Maybe it was both. Eventually, he pulled his gaze away and let Sam go when they'd reached the bed. "If you don't know, then I must really be no one." A muscle throbbed in his jaw as he thought about how many people must have forgotten him if his existence had been erased like that. Withdrawing, he went to start getting dressed. The ship hadn't set sail yet but there were sounds of men returning and roll call being taken.  
The pain he heard in the captain's voice, and the look that crossed his face, cut Sam to the core and he wasn't sure why. "You're _not_ no one," Sam said emphatically. "You're the Pirate King. You're these men's captain. They respect you, they voted for you to be their captain. You are important to them. They'd die for you. The only reason anyone would die for me is because it is their job to protect me because of my station and title. As you have said, I am nothing here. I am the no one in this room. If I don't know you and I should, it is because of Father, not because you were forgotten but because the name you carry was not permitted to be uttered in his house." Sam slowly eased himself down onto the bed, discretely watching Dean dress and admiring every flex of muscle and brush of light across that golden-tanned skin. 

With an economy of motions, Dean pulled on layers of clothing and bent to pull on his long boots. When he rose, in the narrow mirror in front of him he saw Sam watching him, waiting. "I don't want your sympathy or your false flattery," he said gruffly, picking up his gloves and putting them on. When he turned, his eyes were bleak and devoid of emotion. Marching to the wall, he pulled both bracelets down, headed for the bed, and shackled Sam's wrists. Sensing emotions roiling off Sam, he looked up and met his eyes, but couldn't read the man. "Don't try to make friends with me. You had your chance when I came to you. It's too late now."  
Turning on his heels, Dean left, closing the door firmly behind him. 

Sam ran his hand over his face in frustration. The man knew how to hold a grudge and he sure wished he knew when the hell this 'chance' had been. When had he ever met the man? The man who claimed to have saved his life.

Laying in the bed, his back throbbing right along with his head, Sam wasn't motivated to rummage about the cabin, or read or really even move. But he wasn't tired either. He sighed and wondered if his bandages should be changed out. The doctor would probably come check on him once they were underway.

Cards. Maybe there were some cards around here. He could keep himself busy and it wouldn't take much concentration. Even if he felt like something a horse had trampled into the ground, he _hated_ doing nothing. With a groan, he forced himself out of bed and began searching for cards. He also wondered when breakfast was. He didn't want much, maybe some toast and tea, to help settle his stomach. The chains wouldn't let him reach the door, so he called out Alfred's name a couple times, hopeful that the boy was around.

The door opened and Alfred all but stumbled inside, his face pale and eyes almost unseeing. "Sorry Sir, cook won't have breakfast ready until..." Stopping in his tracks, he took note of Sam's condition and the bandages he was wearing. He glanced at the door behind him, and looked back, his eyes even more troubled than when he'd first stepped into the room.

Sam took hold of the boy's shoulders. "Alfred, what's wrong?"  
He looked up. "Nothing. It's just... They're hanging Tiny. I'm not fond of him but I don't like to watch." Swallowing, he took a step back. "What happened to you?"   
"Punishment for escaping. Unfortunately your captain is a faster swimmer than I." He grimaced a bit. "Twenty lashes. I've had worse, believe me, but your captain is quite skilled with the whip, I'll give him that. So why are they hanging Tiny? Misbehaved on shore leave, I take it?" Sam asked. 

"You tried to escape? By water?" Alfred was a little stunned that the man had the balls to try. "Don't do that again," he said, "I've seen someone keel hauled for that and it's not pretty. He wasn't dead but, if he'd been able to, I think he would have asked to be killed." Walking over to the table, he picked up the pitcher and poured a glass of water for Sam and brought it to him. "Aye, misbehaving. Raping. The Captain won't abide by that. It doesn't happen often," he added.   
"Yeah, figured everyone was drinking and having enough fun that my absence wouldn't be noticed so fast. I would have gotten more punishment but I made a wager with one of your men that I'd keep my feet during the flogging. The Captain said he'd stop at twenty if I managed, and I did." Sam accepted the water and sipped it cautiously, not wanting his stomach to rebel. "As the captain said, I'm no good to him dead, so that's probably why he didn't keel haul me. Well, and the fact we're in port." He shook his head a little. "I find it ironic the Captain hangs his men for raping." Seeing the question in the young boy's eyes, Sam decided against telling him his captain had raped him. The boy was dealing with enough. "Never mind. Do you know where the captain keeps a deck of cards maybe? And any chance you could, when the mess out there is over, get me some buttered toast and maybe some hot tea, willow bark if the doctor on board has any. That would ease the pain and I don't think I better have any wine just yet. I'm not up to eating much more than toast. Your captain had to sew me up and I partook of a tad bit of rum." He gave a smirk. "Okay, maybe a lot of rum. My stomach isn't quite happy with me."

Smiling back, Alfred went to look at the Captain's desk. Not seeing the ivory box, he moved to the shelf and started searching. "I saw the captain stitching his own wounds once, but never anyone else's. Only been with him a year," he added, bending down to the lower shelves and frowning. He went back to the table, hesitated, and then pulled open a drawer. Seeing the box, he pulled it out and something got hooked on his finger. His eyes widened at the sight of the necklace and he quickly dropped it back inside the drawer. "Wouldn't touch it if I were you," he warned Sam, noticing the man had seen. "Especially with the mood the captain's likely to be in after," he nodded toward the window, meaning what was going on below, on deck.   
Alfred started to straighten up the room, picking up clothes and putting them away and pushing the chairs under the table and such. Once he cleaned up the privy and took the chamber pots, he headed out of the room. "I'll see what I can do about the bread and getting a remedy from the doctor."

"Thanks, Alfred," Sam said. After Alfred left, he immediately opened the desk drawer and pulled out his mother's necklace, studying it for a short while, then sighed and put it back. Sitting at the table, he played solitaire, trying to get his mind off his pain. And the shackles around his wrists. And all the questions twirling in his head about the captain. Next time he was out on deck, he'd see if he couldn't catch the eye of one of the senior men and ask a few questions about the Pirate King.  
*

Hours later, Dean walked into his chambers with Rufus behind him. Seeing Sam at his desk, he motioned for him to get up, "Inside," he said, waiting only until Sam retreated behind the panel to the sleeping area of the chambers before moving to the scroll cases and digging around for the right map. Finding it, he returned and unrolled it over the table.  
Noticing his quartermaster looking beyond the panels, at Sam, Dean snapped, "if you're done gaping at my captive, you might pay attention to the course I want to take."

Anyone else might look contrite, but Rufus took his time turning and looking down at the map.   
They went back and forth, discussing the best routes and ports to avoid any confrontations, be able to sell the goods they'd taken, and also be able to receive word about the Lord Governor's intent as to whether he would meet the terms of the ransom. The discussions proceeded as if Sam wasn't in the room. The first mate, Bobby, came in and after a little more discussion, the quartermaster gave him the captain's orders and the two men left the room, leaving Dean behind.

Lifting the map and rolling it back up, Dean looked at the cards spread out over his desk, then at the tray of leftover food and drink on the nightstand. "Alfred seems to have taken a liking to you," he said.

"Yes, I think so. He likes that I don't curse as much as the others on board. Probably doesn't hurt that from his point of view he's no longer the lowest man in rank what with me here. I can't order him around," Sam said from where he laid on the bed. "Tomorrow I'll probably be able to move around a bit better. Is there any light work I can do? Untangle ropes, oil equipment, mend sails, something? I'm going to go crazy sitting around for eight days doing little but playing cards and staring at the sea."

"Of course Lord Winchester, if you want to have the run of the ship, you'll have it. Even if it means you'll likely sabotage the food supplies, kill our men in their sleep, or attempt to escape again." Putting the scroll away, Dean turned to look at Sam. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Wash your feet, give you the ship, or sing your praises, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, I plan to poison the same food I'm eating. And I'm certain with my chains and the condition of my back that I could best any one of your men, or sneak quietly into their quarters and kill them all before any awoke. I am a brute. I've killed hundreds with my bare hands you know. And once we're out at sea, I'm just looking for an opportunity to jump overboard and swim miles to shore."  
Sam pushed himself up and walked out to stand in front of Dean. "For God's sake man, you can keep me shackled on the deck and surely there are things that need cleaning or some things that could be brought to me to fix or whatever. Alfred did say you'd be in a mood. He was right."

"Then you were warned about my mood," Dean gripped Sam's jaw so he couldn't retreat, "and yet you antagonize me. Are you trying to goad me into punishing you?" he demanded, taking a step forward and forcing Sam to walk backwards. "Maybe those scars on your back aren't from what you claim. Maybe they're there because you enjoy punishment, is that it?"  
"No, sir," Sam managed to get out, even as he felt Dean's fingers dig deeper, further bruising his already abused and bruised skin. "Sorry," he mumbled. Maybe he was too used to getting his way. Though he followed his father's orders, he could still badger him into letting him do things. Either that, or he'd be told to keep his peace and if he didn't, he'd be soundly cuffed. This man wasn't his father and would as soon see him dead Sam was beginning to believe. If his father didn't pay the ransom, death would likely be the outcome. He stared at Dean, fear creeping into his eyes, wishing the man would either let go of him, or hit him, instead of just standing there, glaring at him with hate-filled green eyes. 

"I keep hearing that, but your actions don't match your words. Stop pushing me, Sam. I am not like anyone you've ever met. You can't manipulate me... or if you do, you won't like the results. I promise you that," he said as softly as the hissing of a snake, before he let Sam go. He walked back to his desk and poured himself a glass of rum, his back ramrod straight and every muscle in his body tense.   
"You're wrong. You're just like my father on a bad day," Sam snapped, "right down to turning to the bottle." Sam turned and headed back toward the bed.  
The glass dropped from Dean's hand and shattered on the floor as he whipped around and followed, grabbing Sam before he reached the bed, wheeling him around and slamming him up against the wall. Using his body, he forced Sam back. When he leaned in, his forearm pushed against Sam's throat, cutting off his air. "Don't. Ever. Compare me to John Winchester again. I warn you Sam, you go too far. You _have_ gone too far," he ground out, his gaze drilling into Sam's. "If I were your father, I would hand you off to the next pirate ship we come in contact with and tell them to pass you around." He ran his thumb over Sam's swollen lower lip. "This would be nothing compared to what they'd do with you. By the time they were done enjoying you, you might not be in your right mind. I'd still trade you for the ransom, but you'd never be the same. Not ever," he said, the weight of knowledge from experience leaving no room for argument. 

Letting go, Dean moved to grab the chains and tugged on them, pulling them until all the loose chain between Sam's bracelets and the first iron loop on the wall tightened to the point that Sam's arms were raised above his head. It reminded him of that night he'd taken Sam against the wall and his stomach lurched. Cursing under his breath, he secured the chains.   
The pain of his scored back against the wall would have taken his breath away if Dean hadn't done so with his forearm. He let out with a cry when his arms were yanked above his head, the stitches pulling painfully. He watched as Dean secured the chains, having to know how much it hurt. 

"Just like my father!" Sam yelled at him, knowing he was going to get beaten or worse, but not caring. His eyes watered from the pain and any attempt to tug at the chains only doubled the agony. He was being stupid and stubborn, but he just couldn't stop himself. He tended to be that way when he was scared...and he was quite scared of what the captain was going to do to him before the eight days were passed.

Dean's hand closed around Sam's mouth, nose and face. He slammed his head into the wall. "Shut up, I told you to shut up!" he shouted, shoving Sam's head back again hard enough to knock him out. Only the blow didn't send Sam into oblivion, which only enraged Dean more. He looked around the room, searching for Sam's clothing, and seeing none around, marched to the man's trunk. Reaching inside, he pulled out one of Sam's white shirts, tore it into a few strips, and within moments, he had Sam gagged tight.   
As he backed away, he pointed at Sam in warning, then walked out of his own chambers, though he had no pressing business outside.

* * *

When evening fell, Alfred came into the captain's quarters with a meal for one as the captain was eating with the crew. He set the tray on the table and walked around the screen, then stared in shock at Sam chained tight to the wall and looking like he wasn't supporting his own weight. "What have you done?" he asked, moving closer and reaching up to touch the taller man's cheek. "You tried to escape again, didn't you?"  
Alfred shook his head and dropped his hand from Sam's face. "I told you, you can't do that. Can't you just wait to be ransomed?" He clicked his tongue at Sam's state. "You could just be the Captain's guest. He's a fair man, but he won't allow you to get away. You have to stay, and don't cause any trouble. That's the only way you'll be safe."

He noticed Sam's eyes going to the table, where he'd set the new pitcher of water. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'll leave it here and when you're released, you can have it." Hanging his head, Alfred slunk out of the room.

* * *

It was past midnight when Dean made his way back to his quarters. He'd managed to drink enough to dull all his feelings and even the sight of Sam, looking pitiful and on the verge of fainting, stirred neither guilt nor anger within him. Staring at him, Dean stripped, fully aware of the things that must be passing through Sam's mind. He did nothing to ease Sam's fears.

When he was done, he pulled his loose pants on and got into bed, put his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't blow out the oil lamp, but waited for sleep to claim him.

*

_The curtains were drawn, the bedroom dark and oppressively sad despite the roaring fire and many lit oil lamps. Dean played on the floor, near the fire, but his attention kept moving to his mother who seemed to be doing worse today. She spoke softly to the women around her bed and was holding Sammy in the curve of her arm though his weight was supported by the bed. He saw nurse applying a wet cloth to her forehead and looked back down at his toys. The doctor would come soon and he'd give her medicine. She'd be fine again, and then they'd take her outside in her chair, so she could enjoy the garden and watch him play. She liked that, she always smiled when she was among the flowers.  
Using his doll to knock over his blocks, he laughed and started to rebuild. Hearing his mother's whispered "who will protect my son?" he got up and rushed to her side. _

_"I'll protect him, Mama. I'll watch Sammy. Me and Miss Sophie, until you get better," he told her, tugging on her soft pink bed jacket._

_When she looked at him, tears flowed down her cheeks even though she tried to smile. Miss Sophie's... everyone's eyes were on him. They looked at him like they were worried, all of them. He stuck his chest out. "I will. I will protect him, I promise you Mama, I promise," he said, feeling her touch his shoulder, where she said the angels had marked him._

_Dean put his hand on Sam's face and turned it gently toward him, "Look Sammy." Dean made a face and a silly sound, then laughed with the baby. "See... See Mama."_

_Sam jerked forward and Miss Sophie took him immediately. The crying started._

_"No... don't go... she's not dead, she not. Mama!" He felt hands pulling him away, fought them. "Mama!"_  
*

Dean woke with a start, sitting up suddenly as he tried to push away memories of watching his mother being placed into the ground. He let out a few breaths, then turned his head and saw Sam shackled to the wall. _I'll watch Sammy._ He closed his eyes for a moment. He'd broken his most important promise. Would it make a difference to her that Sam hadn't grown up to be the boy either of them expected? A sick feeling in his stomach told him 'no.'

Pushing the bed clothes out of the way, he got out and avoiding Sam's eyes, freed his wrists from the bracelets holding him up. Sam immediately started to fall and Dean caught him. Bearing all of his weight, he carried him the short distance to the bed, and helped him inside. Bringing the pitcher over, he poured a glass of water, then sat on the bed next to Sam and undid his gag. "Drink," he commanded, bringing the glass to Sam's mouth, but still avoiding his eyes. 

Sam stared at the captain while he drank the water down, and then the second glass when it was offered to him. He tried to speak, but it took him a couple tries. "Piss. Please," he managed to get out. He had managed to hold it, though when Dean went to bed, he probably wouldn't have had he not passed out or fallen asleep, he wasn't really sure which. With Dean waking him up, the urgency had grown to the point he wasn't sure he could move without losing his water, and he didn't think Dean would be happy about him pissing in the bed. The agony of trying to move his arm to unfasten his pants made him groan, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. 

"Just... don't move." Understanding Sam's lack of mobility after hours of being tied in the position, Dean got up without complaint and went to the privy to get the chamber pot. Setting it down on the floor next to the bed, he leaned over Sam and started to unfasten his pants. The notion that he could get Alfred to take care of Sam crossed his mind but was discarded just as quickly. Putting his arm behind Sam's back, he helped him to the edge of the bed, putting his legs down on the floor. For an instant, their eyes met, and he read fear in Sam's. Sighing, he reached down and closed his fingers around Sam's cock, aiming it for him.

As soon as Dean's hand was on his cock and pointing it in the right direction, Sam finally let himself go, sighing in relief as he pissed for what felt like a thirty-count. "Thank you," he said, softly. "Could I have more water, please?"

He could still barely move his arms and Dean had to hold the glass for him as he drank thirstily. After finishing off the glass he nodded that he was done, that it was enough. For once he kept his mouth shut. He hurt too much to want to say anything or to provoke the captain in any fashion. He knew Dean would be pleased the message had gotten through, at least for the time being. Sitting quietly, he waited to see what Dean would do or want from him.

"Would you like some rum?" Dean asked. "To ease the pain?" He was a little uneasy, unsure how to feel about how he'd broken Sam. Blasted dream. This wasn't the child he'd loved and he had no real allegiance to him. He was the enemy. Only, when he was weak like this, it was harder to see that.

"That would be nice. Thank you." He watched Dean rise and walk over to the bottle and pour the rum into the glass he'd been using for water. He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking anything or saying anything more. When he took the rum and drank, a bit dribble down the side of his mouth but his arms hurt too much for him to care to wipe it away.

"Have more," Dean said, using his palm to clean Sam's face. "It dulls the pain."

Sam accepted a second glass then shook his head at an offer of a third measure. "I'll be okay, thank you, Captain," Sam said. His eyes drifted to the strange handprint-like mark on Dean's bare shoulder. His eyes went back to Dean's face. "Thank you for letting me down. I won't try to escape while we're at sea. I promise you." He gave a small smile. "I'm not really that good a swimmer." He caught his lower lip between his teeth. "May I ask you something, sir?"

Dean hesitated, choosing to help Sam lay down and straightening him in the bed instead of answering right away. Wiping his hand over his face, he answered finally. "I don't know if that's a good idea. Your tongue seems to get you into a lot of avoidable trouble." Carefully moving over Sam's body to the other side of the bed, Dean sat for a moment. "Your jokes and your smiles are often no indication of what will pass through your lips next and I am too tired to have a repeat performance."   
"Yes," Sam agreed. "It's unimportant. Good night, Captain. And thank you for letting me down."

"Good night, Sam." Dean lowered himself to the mattress and stared grimly the ceiling.

Hours later, Dean rolled onto his side and found himself putting his arm around Sam's waist and holding him close. Lifting his head, he saw Sam's eyes were closed. Letting out a breath, he lay back down, his lips touching the back of Sam's neck as he breathed in his scent. Why it was comforting, and why in heaven's name he needed comfort, he had no idea. Maybe it was because the dream had been so vivid. He hadn't seen his mother's face so clearly in either dreams or memories in a very long time. "Why do you do this to me?" he asked. "Why do you push me, make me do things I take no pleasure in doing?"  
Sam had awakened from Dean's arm wrapping about him but kept his eyes shut and breathing level. If he pretended he was asleep, perhaps the man would leave him untouched. He was shocked at the gentle kiss to his neck. He had no answers for Dean's questions. He was the way he was. Years with a strict and abusive father had lit a fire inside him that made him want to rebel against anyone in authority. He was very good with words and usually, though the words irritated the authority figure, no physical assault came, with the exception of his father. Maybe that is why he told Dean he was so like John Winchester. The truth of the matter was that when Dean was angry, he was very much like Sam's father. When he was not...Sam didn't mind his company. He reminded him, just a little, of Gabriel, though Gabriel had never had the hard life Dean had apparently endured. At least, not after he'd come to work in the stables.

When Dean said nothing more and made no moves that indicated sexual intentions, Sam let himself fall back into exhausted slumber.

*

Sam awoke early, surprised to find Dean still in bed with him, still asleep, and surprised to find they both had a bit of morning wood. He slipped carefully out of bed and crept to the door. The sun was just showing its first rays over the horizon. Stepping outside, he shut the door quietly and walked over to the railing to watch the sunrise.

"Planning on going for another swim, lad?" Dean's first mate, Bobby, asked, walking up the stairs to him.  
Sam chuckled. "No, sir. I don't think I could even swim right now, my shoulders ache too badly. I just wanted to step outside for some fresh air and watch the sun rise." He raised his bloodied and bruised wrists. "And I was rather hoping to avoid shackles for a bit. I don't plan on causing any problems or trouble sir. I just want to stand here, pretend I'm a free man, and watch the sun, if that would be alright."

Bobby eyed the man suspiciously for a moment. "You do _anything_ and the captain will have my hide." 

"And mine. And at this point, I've little more hide I care to spare him the pleasure of abusing. Truly sir, I will behave myself good and proper."

"I'll be watching you, lad. One hint of anything..." Bobby warned

"Nothing. I promise." Sam turned back to the railing and looked at the dark waters, watching them slowly growing in color as the sun rose. He worked his knees and ankles a bit, having been immobile most of the day prior, and slowly worked his arms and shoulder, carefully stretching the muscles and skin on his back. There were ugly looking clouds to the south and Sam guessed they would be in for a storm.

*

Fully dressed, Dean walked out to the small deck at the top of the stairs where Sam seemed to be exercising. He'd awakened when Sam left the bed, but had thought Sam had gone to the privy. When he hadn't returned, Dean had immediately gotten up and opened the door. Seeing his first mate with Sam, he'd calmed down and taken the time to change before coming out. Looking up at the sky, he spoke. "You should get dressed. Alfred will bring you something to eat." When he looked at Sam's state, he shook his head. "You look worse than a wayward pirate."  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Sam said. Looking down at himself, at the blood on his arms and wrists and the condition of his clothes, he couldn't argue the point. "My bandages probably need changed out and I wouldn't mind a bucket of water and soap to wash up a bit." He looked down at his wrists. "I don't know if you have the water to spare, but if you do, it would be appreciated. I'd offer to fetch it myself, but I suspect the answer to that would be a resounding 'no' so I won't. May I watch the rest of the sunrise first?"

His mother had loved to watch the sunrise. Dean remembered seeing her bathed in the golden sunlight and having her tea at what everyone called an _uncivilized hour_. Because of that, Dean himself enjoyed sunrises. That Samuel did too came as a surprise. "Of course," he answered, joining him at the rail and looking out at the horizon. "It's peaceful now. The wind is still, and the waters glassy. Perfect. But like all things, change will come and ruin it. I expect we will be trying to outrun a storm."  
"Yes, I saw the storm to the south. And the red sky this morning suggests the same. My nanny used to rise early and have me watch the sunrise with her. She said my mother loved to watch the start of a new day, for each new day holds promise of a new beginning. When Miss Sophie passed into the arms of Heaven, my new governess did not like getting up that early, but I got up anyhow and watched the sun, pretending Miss Sophie was there and my mother was too and would then sneak back to bed." Sam paused a moment then asked, "If we fail to outrun the storm, might I...might I remain unshackled? I will be totally and completely well behaved."

Dean rubbed his eyes and looked at Sam. "We'll see. If you're shackled, it will be by your ankles." Although he was strangely weary of fighting Sam, he wasn't about to promise something he wasn't sure he'd deliver. "Has anyone ever asked whether you are a lawyer? You have a way of trying to strike bargains whether or not you have anything to offer. I suppose you have a guinea to your name now." A smile pulled at Dean's lips as he remembered the crewmember had paid Sam on the bet he'd won.

Sam laughed outright at Dean's comment. "I enjoy law and negotiating, but," he made a face, "it means dealing with too many of the gentry, and they mostly just irritate me to the point I wish to strangle something. That was why I wanted to become a doctor. I would not have to deal with any of the rich bastards unless I chose to and yet I could still help people, especially those who needed it most. And who says I have nothing to offer?" He gave Dean a decidedly flirtatious look. "You haven't begun to see the things this man could offer."

"Why do I feel like I should be asking for brown trousers right about now?" Dean chuckled at his own admission of fear of what Sam had in mind. He didn't want to be entertained or to like the man, but it was difficult to hang onto his hatred at times.  
Sam grinned at Dean's comment and turned his attention back to the sunrise. When the greatest portion of the colors were gone from the sky, he gave Dean a nod and headed back inside to Dean's quarters. He went through his trunk to find some fresh clothes. If they didn't beat the storm, perhaps he could get his clothes rinsed out a bit. Alfred came in with half a bucket of water for him, apologizing that that was all they could spare, that the doctor would be in to look at his back, and that he'd have breakfast for him soon.

Sam thanked him then turned to the shirt Dean had ripped up the night before and tore off a fresh strip. He poured a bit of water into a bowl and used the lye soap provided, which burned in his cuts on his hands and wrists, but he didn't care. As the water got dirtied as he washed himself, he dumped it into the chamber pot and refilled the bowl, doing his best to conserve the water.

The doctor showed up within just a few minutes after Sam finished his sponge bath and pried loose the bandages on Sam's back, tsking and clucking his tongue. Sam endured the washing and then the rum poured over his back stoically, and gave the doctor the remains of his shirt for bandaging. Then doctor tended to his wrists as well. 

Alfred came in and helped Sam into clean clothes.

After Sam ate breakfast, he used the last of the water in the bucket to rinse his hair free of any blood and salt from the past couple days, combed it through, letting it hang free to dry. Finally feeling a bit more like himself, he stepped outside to see the progress of the storm. The sky was darker than he would have liked. He waited by the railing, certain the captain would notice him soon enough, but he didn't want to interrupt the man in the middle of his duties. The crew seemed to be rushing about, tugging ropes, tying things down and such. 

The ship rolled with the choppy waves, making it difficult for even the steadiest on their feet to walk straight. At the Captain's orders, sailors began to place battens over the hatches on deck, and to nail them down. They weren't going to outrun the storm and were preparing to ride it out. Loose objects were also nailed down or fastened with ropes. Dean pointed up at the sails that needed shortening and men scrambled up the masts with long lengths of rope. A glance toward portside had him seeing Sam at the railing, holding on but unafraid. 

Just then, the first mate came over and accepted Dean's orders as to the course that would be taken. Bobby would take the helm and the Captain would join him when course corrections were necessary, or if the storm grew violent. Thunder and lightning started to strike around them and rain fell heavily. But it was the wind that would be their enemy. Dean pointed at a few more sails that needed trimming and more men began to climb.  
"Clear the decks, Mateys," Rufus yelled, making sure all unnecessary crew went below. "Hurry it up. Watch your step, lad."

Alfred carried some essentials up the stairs, rum, wine, water, bread and hard cheese for the captain's quarters. "Best that you hold on or go inside," he told Sam, the wind snatching his words out of his mouth. He went inside, then reappeared, holding the railing with one hand just as the ship listed to one side. "Inside," he repeated, and scurried down the stairs to go below.

Dean finally left the deck and climbed the stairs. "You didn't mention that it was a pirate's bath that you were after," he said, alluding to the fact that many of the crew considered rain the only bath they needed.

Sam chuckled, his clothes soaked through, but he couldn't help but enjoy the rain, even if it meant he would need to change clothes and strip off his bandages the doctor had been so diligent about. He knew if he got too wet and stayed that way, he risked the stitches pulling through. The boat was already rocking and being tossed about, bow pointed into the waves to keep from getting swamped. Sam followed Dean inside.

"So much for a nice day spent on the deck," Sam said. After the day before of being chained in the cabin he had been more than ready to stay outside. Dean started to turn to say something in return when the bow suddenly lifted and Sam lost his balance, falling into Dean and they both ended up on the floor, Sam on top of the captain. The bow came down hard as it cut through the wave and the ship nosed down toward the trough of the wave. Sam found himself staring into the captain's jade-green eyes and feeling their bodies pressed against one another, he seemed transfixed.

The wind was knocked out of Dean who found himself trapped under Sam. Expecting a slew of profuse apologies and for Sam to get off him as quickly as possible, Dean was stunned when neither of his expectations were met. Raising his eyes to Sam's, his inquiry died on his lips. There was something stirring in Sam's unfathomable eyes, something that made Dean's breath catch as he noticed Sam's high color. Suddenly, there was something very intimate about the way Sam's body fit against his own and the message in his eyes. "Ahhh..." It left Dean confused, a state he was not used to.  
Sam's eyes slid to Dean's lips as Dean started to say something but ended up just making a sound, apparently unsure what to say. He remembered the feel of those soft lips against his neck the night before and the morning wood they had both had. He felt that same state returning to himself. The ship began to climb again, but Sam could tell the wave wasn't as high. 

"Uhm, sorry," Sam finally said, "Guess I haven't got good sea legs." Feeling his body reacting more and more to Dean's heat beneath him, he started to try to rise when the ship's bow again lifted and Sam found himself collapsing on top of Dean, their lips now nearly touching. The ship thudded down and Sam felt his growing erection press against Dean even as their chests pressed together and their lips brushed one another unintentionally. 

Dean could explain away Sam's failure to get off him and even the brush of their lips, blame it on the storm and on Sam's land legs. What he couldn't explain away as easily was the thudding of Sam's heart against his chest and the press of Sam's arousal against his hip. Sam had flirted and even admitted to being a sodomite, but surely he wasn't interested... not after all that had passed between them. "Are you afraid?" he asked, his voice a little deeper than usual as he put his hands on Sam's sides, intending to help him up. Fear of the storm, it sent many people into each others' arms, that had to be it, he told himself, though he wasn't sure that he was thinking too clearly himself. "Sam?"

It took a moment for Dean's words to penetrate, feeling Dean's hands at his waist. "Afraid of what?" Sam asked almost distractedly, still staring into those green eyes, unsure of what he was seeing in them. His lips tingled in the aftermath of their lips touching, just like they had the first time he and Gabriel had kissed. For a moment he didn't see the captain that had tormented him, but instead one of the most handsome men he had ever laid eyes on. 

"Afraid of... clearly you're not afraid of me." The joke was supposed to center the both of them, but from the way Sam was looking at him, it was clearly ineffective. Dean licked his lips and tried again. "Of the storm, are you afraid," he asked, gently trying to sit up, and when that didn't work, to roll them over.

"Storm?" Sam asked and felt Dean shift beneath him. He bit his lower lip. "No. I've been through bad ones before." When Dean started to roll them over Sam pushed him away, not wanting to end up on his injured back. He felt his face color. "I, uh, sorry." He started to get up but the ship rolled a bit and he ended up on his ass. "Ouch, dammit."

Dean managed a laugh and put his hand out to take Sam's and pulled him up to his feet. "Chair or bed," he asked, placing an arm around Sam but not touching his back. "You'll want to stay put if you don't want to end up on the floor or on top of me." He had to add the latter, because now that he was no longer in close proximity, he was able to think clearer and was quite certain he hadn't imagined the desire in Sam's eyes. Considering this was his brother and a male, his smugness was probably not justified but he didn't have to justify himself to anyone.   
"Chair, I think. I can steady myself better. So I won't end up...uhm, where ever." He accepted Dean's help to the chair and settled into it, resting his elbows on the table to help keep his balance. The thunder rumbled loudly outside and Sam swore the whole ship shook. "Can you help me get my shirt off and get the wet bandages off? I don't want to rip out any stitches." He began unbuttoning his shirt and undoing the cuffs of his sleeves.

Dean took off his own coat first, then moved to help Sam. His fingers brushed Sam's as he took over, his eyes meeting Sam's for a brief moment, before he looked down at the shirt. Stripping Sam when he wasn't either half unconscious from a beating, or in preparation for one, turned out to be a very different experience. As the material fell away, he could see the pulse at the base of Sam's throat beating unusually fast. Once again, his eyes met Sam's as he knelt down, rolling with the ship but staying put, and getting to the buttons over his navel. There was an undeniable heat between them, whether or not it made sense.

Sam watched Dean undo the buttons to his shirt and couldn't deny the fire being stoked inside him. Considering how Dean had treated him and the things he had said, and how clear he made it that he hated both Sam and his father, he didn't understand it. Regardless of what his body was saying, it didn't change the fact Dean still hated him. "Guess I'm kind of a pain in the ass, aren't I?" Sam said. "I have an ingrained rebellion towards those with authority." 

"You don't say," Dean sniffed and slid the soft shirt off Sam's broad shoulders. "You probably feel you should be _the_ authority," he added, pulling the material completely off and, picking up one of the clean napkins from the table, used it to dry Sam's chest. Feeling Sam's stomach tense when he moved down his body, he got up and walked behind Sam and started to lightly dry off his back.

Sam chuckled. "No, I really don't have any desire to be in charge of anyone. I just want to be in charge of my own life instead of having all the decisions made for me. That's when I get rebellious...and usually pay for it." He twisted his head so he could see Dean. He was trying really hard to get his body to ignore Dean's presence. "I don't suppose you could collect the ransom and then just tell my Father I died at sea and drop me off somewhere where there is a university?"

"When I captain a _passenger_ ship, I will let you know." Dean's fingers slipped under the bandages and he started to unwrap them, waiting for Sam to lift his arms and bumping into him as the ship lurched and was tossed to one side. "Sonova..." Meeting Sam's eyes, he suggested, "maybe when you're sent off to meet your fiancé you can slip off the ship and make your way in old Blighty." Walking around in front of Sam he bent again, this time to work on a too tight knot where the bandaging started, at Sam's navel. Leaning in, he gripped one side of the material with his teeth as he tugged on the other end.   
"Father sends me with a chaperon, and if I do not return, he has threatened the welfare of my friends among the servants. It is how he keeps me in line and doing what he wishes me to do." Sam's breath hissed and his stomach clenched as Dean's head was at his gut, working on the knot. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the thoughts running through his mind. His cock was paying full attention and Sam squirmed. 

"Was Doc drunk when he made this knot," Dean demanded through gritted teeth, tugging once more. His cheek brushed against Sam's warm stomach and suddenly, Dean was very aware of Sam. The fact that he sensed Sam's response only intensified the unexpected feelings coiling within Dean. He knew he needed to be done, and now. One more strong tug got it to release and he spit the material out of his mouth and onto Sam's lap as he pulled away. Noticing Sam looking up, he muttered under his breath, "Wrong type of prayer."

"The, uh, water, probably tightened it or something," Sam said, swallowing hard. "Uhm, prayer? I wasn't praying. I was just, uh, studying the ceiling." He looked at Dean guiltily, seeing he didn't believe a word of it. "I'm sorry, it's just been a long time since someone as handsome--since I've had a man..." he stammered, feeling his face grow hot with embarrassment. His hand went to his brow, all but covering his eyes as he looked down, seeing his traitorous cock bulging in his pants. 

"Handsome. Huh. Well, I do have all my teeth, and that's a fact." Dean also looked down into Sam's lap and saw more proof of Sam's desire. Even if the man were trying to play him, Dean didn't think he could react this naturally or respond quite like that. It had to be difficult to feel attraction for your captor, for someone whose lash you'd felt on your back, and worse. He would have discounted it as impossible, if he didn't feel it too. For someone he hated, or wanted to keep hating. For his prisoner. For a man who'd goaded him into doing the very things Dean abhorred. He found himself putting his hand on Sam's cheek, running it down its contours, and rubbing his thumb over his lips. Aye, he did he want to kiss him. He even started to lean in, before he caught himself and stood up.


	5. Chapter 5

His breath catching in his chest, Sam wanted to lean into the gentle touch of the warm and callused hand. The same hand that had closed into a fist and beaten him, grabbed him by his jaw and bruised him. The slide of Dean's thumb across his lips brought up a series of memories and feelings, both good and ill. Confusion filled him at what he desired and yet was foolish to want. When Dean's hand fell away from his face and Dean started to lean in, Sam glimpsed the lust in the Captain's eyes and noted the how he clenched his jaw. He readied himself, wondering if the kiss would be tender and sweet or brutal and dominating as Dean's kisses had been. Brutal and dominating would surely wilt the desire he felt in his loins so he almost hoped for it. But instead of kissing him, Dean stood and looked around the room. "What...what are you looking for?"

"Blasted bandages." Dean swallowed, then saw some of the shredded material on the other side of the desk and reached for it. When he straightened and looked back down at Sam, the fire was still there in Sam's eyes. Dean's own response to that changed things. Made things harder. What was once black and white kept getting grayer, and he wasn't pleased. "I need to rebandage you. Lean forward and raise your arms," he suggested, fighting against the strange pull on his soul, something he'd have to think about later.

Sam did as Dean instructed, wincing at his aches. He felt awkward, the silence felt awkward between them. "Pirates are supposed to have a wench in every port. That's what the stories all say. Is it true? Do most pirates have that? And I thought women were supposed to be bad luck on ships. I was surprised to see them, especially seeing a few as members of your crew but dressed like men. Are they sodomites?" Sam knew he was sort of babbling, but he needed something, anything, to fill the silence.

"Some of the men are married. Some have a wife in every port." Dean laughed. "Most of us live for the day and have a wench when we have the coin and the time." For a very long time after he'd escaped his personal hell on land, Dean had avoided women... sex, altogether. His experiences before that with brutal men hadn't been pleasurable, and the memories tortured him even when he was with a soft, willing woman. In more recent years, he'd almost been able to set his past aside and did enjoy himself now and again. But unlike many of his crew, his goal in life wasn't to earn coin to be able to buy women and liquor. 

"A wife in every port?" Sam said, trying to imagine it. "That sounds...as if they do like to take risks for if any found out about the others..."

As he wrapped lower down Sam's torso, once again, Dean bent down. "Exactly. And if you call the women aboard sodomites, there's one or two among them who will likely show you their fist. No, a few are married to other crew, and the others chose this way of life to buy freedom from their own lots in life. I don't believe in bad luck, or omens, or witchcraft," he said, with a hint of anger. "No one who is overly superstitious and pushes their beliefs on others is welcome aboard the Vengeance." He started to tie a knot with the short remaining piece of cloth, and leaned in again to pull on it with his teeth to tighten it.

"There's nothing wrong with being attracted to one of the same gender... God made us this way and I do not believe it was meant as a test of our faith. I think rather it is a test of those who claim to follow the Lord's teaching and then turn venomous to those who are different of belief, or look, or ability, or interest in gender. Alfred said you're a fair man and it is good to see that you--" When Dean leaned in, Sam sucked in his breath and his stomach, clenching a fist. "You do make it...difficult to concentrate on...conversation. Though it is a good diversion from the storm."

Though he didn't believe in the devil, that was who Dean blamed when he intentionally brushed his mouth across Sam's smooth flesh, before pulling back and lightly patting the knot. "I don't believe in God either," he announced. A clap of loud thunder had him grabbing onto Sam's shoulder. "Except in a storm. Then I'm all for prayer," he added, sheepishly. "I'll get you a shirt."

Sam's flesh burned where Dean had kissed it and he was still focused on that when the clap of thunder came and Dean's hand gripped him. He chuckled at Dean. "It is wisest not to bring down the wrath of God when God's wrath is already let loose and seeks out convenient targets. I do not think he meddles in the affairs of Man often, but when he does it can be wondrous or terrifying. I believe he expects people to look after one another, for is that not what we are here for? To help our fellow man and woman? I believe He hears our prayers and He pays note of those who caused such prayers to be made but in this life and existence, we are mostly on our own." When Dean brought the shirt over, with his help, Sam got it on and then Dean started buttoning it for him. "Thank you Captain."

"Yeah." Dean met Sam's eyes then continued dressing him. His mother had faith, that he did remember. But any faith Dean had as a child was beaten out of him after his father put him on the streets. It wasn't something he would ever get back, even if he envied those who had something to believe in. "Well Lord Winchester, you now have the distinction of being the only person to have ever been dressed by the Pirate King. There." For once, there was no rancor in the way he used Sam's title, the title that had once been his own.

"How in the Colonies did you ever end up with such a nickname?" Sam asked, smirking at Dean's comment. "Though I might start calling you King Dean if you keep calling me Lord Winchester. I like Sam. Less stuffy and ostentatious."

"I may not answer to Dean. I haven't heard that name more than a handful of times in two decades." Gripping the edge of the table, Dean walked around it and sat down, then poured some wine for each of them. Uncovering the tray of bread and cheese, he pushed it to the center of the table. "Blackbeard and Captain Kidd, were already taken," he joked, then shook his head and picked up a piece of cheese. "King was the name of my first ship, it's as simple as that." The ship lurched once again. Dean counted down and then relaxed as she climbed back up again. "It's getting worse. You should eat up, while you still can."

"Worse?" Sam said. "Mayhaps it is the time for prayer," he muttered. "Yes, probably a wise thing," Sam said, sipping his wine and eating some of the cheese. "You need to come up with a better story about your name, though. Perhaps you were on a pirate ship, had been the cabin boy to the Pirate King, one of the most feared and brilliant pirates to ever live. The pirates went to battle but alas the captain was injured. You called out his orders and saved the ship and crew. Only then did the crew discover that the captain had surely been killed by his injury instantly and it was you who had saved them. You were crowned with the honored name. Or maybe," Sam suggested as he ate some bread, "all the pirates are much more organized than anyone realizes and the pirates have a king they elect and pay tribute to. Only the bravest, the smartest, could ever hold such a position, could ever keep all the pirates in line. You had proven yourself time and time again and were so chosen by the pirate council to be king. See, much more likely to be handed down in tale from father to son. You'll end up in the history books as one of the most famed of men." He grinned at Dean and popped another piece of cheese into his mouth.

Laughing, Dean shook his head. "It worries me that I am prepared to believe either of the two tales you have spun. I'll tell you what, when you are freed, you can tell whatever tale pleases you so long as you make sure that people know the Pirate King is a man to be feared. True fear leads to less bloodshed," he said with a shrug. "The quicker people are to lay down their weapons, the better it is for everyone. Tell me, what tale will you spin of your own adventures?" It was too late to take the question back, and Dean knew there was a more than even chance that the truth would end what had turned out to be the first long and pleasant conversation between them.

"Hmmm, my adventures. It will entirely depend upon the audience. For see, my looks are world renowned and when the Pirate King heard I would be traveling to England, he immediately set sail, curious to know if the legends of this young man could possibly be true. He got close enough with a spy glass to see me on deck and knew instantly that he had to have me as his own for I was a treasure like no other. He raided the ship and demanded me and though I was hidden, to save the crew and the ship, I surrendered to the scoundrel and fearsome pirate. Once he had me on board, he tied me to the masthead so that all might see his prize. His men grew jealous though and when I was brought down, one challenged the Pirate King. The Pirate King claimed me with a kiss that would make any man or woman swoon, for 't'is well known he could kiss the breath from the carrier of the West Wind. The crewman, still not satisfied, challenged the captain for possession of me. The battle was quite spectacular, swords clashing such as to shed sparks upon the deck. The battle took them up to the mast where they fought along the mainstays, the ladders and the netting. Finally the Pirate King, in a most daring move, bested his opponent and sent him plummeting to Davy Jones' locker. Returning to deck he swept me to his cabin where I was chained, insert audience gasp here, and then that evening, he could no more take his eyes off of this handsome young man than a fish could breathe out of the water. He ravished me that eve, for that's what pirates are wont to do, but then the next morn deeply regretted what he had done. He let me walk on the deck, tho' still in chains. Saw me well fed with the best of food and wine aboard. Little did he know I had secreted a brooch in my boot and that evening, I saw my chance for escape from the dastardly, if handsome Pirate King. I escaped my chains and made it into the water, swimming toward the distant shore. But alas, as the man could not keep his eyes off me for more than a few grains of sand falling in an hour glass, and thus it was discovered I was missing. With a shrill whistle he called to the dolphins that oft rode the bow waves and begged them to carry him to me so he might bring back this rare and beautiful treasure. They, of course, did his bidding, for he was the Pirate King, after all."

Sam stopped and drank some more wine. With a laugh and grin, he asked, "Should I go on, you majesty?"

The tension melted as Sam's tale became more and more spectacular, although it held many a grain of painful truth disguised by Sam to perhaps avoid his wrath. By the time Sam called him majesty, Dean was giving a rare, hearty laugh. "You," he pointed at Sam, "would make a great recruiter. By the time you finished describing life aboard a ship, even those of wealth and title would be fighting for a space aboard a pirate ship. So the dolphins do my bidding?" He started to laugh again, when the door opened and Rufus walked inside.

Dean immediately poured the man a drink and ignored the way Rufus was looking at him, then at Sam, and back at himself. 

"The wind is really blowing now Captain. We'll be needing you shortly." Accepting the glass, he downed it. His gaze went back to Sam, specifically his free wrists, then he looked down and saw there were no shackles on his ankles. Eyebrows raised, he looked at his Captain.

Dean had already grabbed his coat and was putting it on. Instead of telling Rufus what he wanted to know, he asked a few questions about the height of the waves. As the man answered, Dean got his hat and then pulled on his gloves. "Do you want assistance to the bed," he asked, looking at Sam. The table and chairs had already been shifting to and fro.

"Go take care of the ship. I'll manage," Sam said with a wave. He corked the wine and gathered the cheese and bread, wrapping them in a bit of cloth and tucked it inside his shirt. He stood up carefully and grabbed the wine bottle. "Go! The ship's welfare is intimately tied to mine, after all. I will be huddled in the corner of the bed, praying, and drinking." Staggering because of the roll of the ship, he made it behind the screen and to the bed without falling. "Do not get washed overboard!" he yelled as Dean left. He wasn't entirely certain what would happen to him if something happened to Dean and he preferred the known to the unknown. 

"Don't ask," was Dean's curt order to the Quartermaster as they gripped the railings and headed down the stairs. 

* * *

When dawn arrived, most of the winds had died down and the sun was attempting to break through the clouds. The storm had raged for hours and done some damage to both the ship and crew climbing the masts to lash down sails when the winds came from all sides and threatened to capsize the ship. At one point it had been bad enough that Dean had considered cutting down the mast, but it would have been his very last resort because being adrift in the ocean, at least until other measures could be taken, had its own tremendous risks.

He was in and out of his quarters, plotting and correcting the ship's course, and noted that Sam was nowhere to be found. An inquiry to the cabin boy set his mind at ease. Apparently Sam was assisting Doc. The next time he was on deck, Dean headed port side to see for himself. Indeed, Samuel had his sleeves rolled up and was holding down one of the men while Doc worked on him. Knowing that Sam was still dealing with his own injuries and yet seeing him working, helping others, once again, Dean's mental image of the life his brother lead and of his character shattered a little more.

The ship carpenters were out, removing the battens and repairing the damage to parts of the ship. Men scrambled up and down the masts, unlashing sails and making minor repairs as necessary. The grog flowed freely and there was some singing now and again, particularly when the Captain walked by. As conditions normalized, those who had been on duty throughout the storm headed to their bunks to get some much needed rest.

Clothed only in loose pants, Dean eventually fell onto his bed, and was asleep even before his head hit the pillow.

*

Sam was pleased that he could be useful and attentively watched everything the doctor did for the men and women. He was a little surprised that the Captain hadn't chased him back to his quarters, but since Dean was giving him some leash, he was taking full advantage of it. Once the crew members who had worked the hardest during the storm retreated for well-earned rest, Sam stayed on deck, helping out as he could. With his back injured, he couldn't do any climbing, but he did play assistant to the carpenters, handing them tools, or helping add fresh pitch to patches or seams if he could reach them. He helped anywhere he could until it seemed only fine details were being tended to and he would only be in the way. The Captain's door was shut and he knew Dean was probably asleep, so he joined the crew in the mess eating a late breakfast. Afterwards, the doctor changed out Sam's bandages and let him know his back was healing well. 

When Sam finally headed to the Captain's quarters he found Dean sprawled across the bed. He smiled down at him. The man looked so much younger when he was sleeping, his scowl relaxed away. Gently, Sam pulled off Dean's boots and covered him with a blanket. Dean didn't even rouse. Ever so carefully he rolled Dean over so he could slip into the bed with him. Dean grunted a soft sound of complaint but rearranged himself without apparently waking, and Sam slid under the blanket with him. He stroked the man's cheek, something he would never do while Dean was awake, and chuckled when he noticed the man had freckles. Freckles! Somehow 'The Pirate King' and 'freckles' did not go together. With a soft sigh, he let sleep take him.

*

As Dean started to roll over onto his stomach, something stopped him. A warm body. Making a sound of contentment, he put his arm around the wench and stroked her stomach, smiling slightly when she moved a bit closer. Burying his face in her neck, he took a deep breath. "Smell good, like rain on a warm day." 

The gentle caress and hot breath on his neck brought Sam to semi-wakefulness. "I like the rain," Sam murmured back.

"Mmm, yeah. Nice lonely beach. Soft waves. A gentle rain," he moved his palm under clothing, caressing warm flesh. "A little piece of heaven." Leaning in, Dean kissed her neck, smiling against it.

Sam gave a soft sound of pleasure at the kiss and turned his head to seek out a more fulfilling kiss from his love. "But you can't swim," Sam said, his eyes still shut, but smiling anyhow. He had tried to teach Gabriel how to swim, but the boy sank like a rock when he got in the water. After several attempts, he'd managed to at least teach Gabe how to keep his head above water. Barely.

"Alright, I won't so long as you keep me busy on the shore," Dean answered, dipping his head down and moving his mouth across her cheek until he found her mouth. He gave her two chaste kisses, then brought his mouth down more firmly over hers and pushed his tongue inside. It had been so long since he'd kissed and touched anyone, been intimate. He expected the familiar moment of doubt or the echo of old fears, but when it didn't come, he tangled his tongue with his lover's, enjoying the wet heat of her mouth and the soft sounds of encouragement. "Yes, like that," he whispered, kissing more aggressively as heat washed over him. 

Sam groaned into Gabriel's mouth. Gabe's kissing was definitely improving. Interlacing the caressing fingers of his lover's with his own, he moved their hands lower. "Fire. You set me on fire," Sam murmured when he managed to take a breath. He moved their hands down to his groin. "See what you do to me," he moaned as he released his lover's hand, placing it over his steadily growing erection and reached behind him to squeeze the firm muscles of Gabriel's ass.

"Five silver pieces for an hour, and then leave me," Dean said, moaning softly as he pressed his hand down. His eyes suddenly fluttered open and he lifted his head, stared at Sam's face, pulled the blanket away and looked down at his hand cupping Sam's arousal, and then looked back up into his face. "You're no wench... and this isn't Paradise Cove," he said, stating the obvious. His mouth still tingled and he still felt the rush of desire quickening his blood. Even his palm, still cupping Samuel's erection, itched to press harder and to squeeze, to make Sam thrust into his hand. "Don't remember... drinking," he said, speaking mostly to himself as he tried to shake free of his confusion.

Sam's eyes slit open, "What are you muttering about? Paradise what?" He yawned and gave Gabe's ass another squeeze. "You're being a tease," he said, wriggling his ass back into his lover's groin. "Not that I don't mind a good tease."

"A what?" He bit his lip at the sensations that coursed through him from Sam rubbing up against his hardening cock.

"A tease," Sam said, yawning again. He reached between them and slid his hand along his lover's shaft. "I can tease, too." 

"Oh... God." Dean's breath was knocked out of him. He ought to roll away, to think about this more, to figure out what was going on. Why Sam's touches were making him feel so good. This was his brother and pleasure had never been in the equation when it came to Sam. What he'd taken, it had been revenge. He hadn't even wanted Sam, he'd just gone through the motions. And he damned well had never been with any other man, not of his own free will. Just the thought of being with one ordinarily killed his desires, and yet... He moaned and dropped his chin down on Sam's shoulder, thrusting almost against his will into his hand. 

"Why?" Dean cleared his throat. "Why are you doing this," he asked, slowly pulling his own hand away from Sam's erection.

"Because you like it?" Sam said sleepily, but when the hand left his groin, he frowned and blinked his eyes a few times. Something wasn't right. He finally fully opened his eyes and looked into the shadow-filled room. His hand froze as he felt Dean thrusting against him. "Oh," he said softly as everything came rushing back in a moment.

"Just because?" Dean didn't understand that, either, but like a moth drawn to a flame, he lowered his mouth to kiss Sam again, wanting to see how it felt when he was fully awake. He delved his tongue into Sam's mouth, this time aware of who he was kissing. Sliding his tongue alongside Sam's, he started to explore his mouth, mapping out every corner and then tangling his tongue with Sam's. Once again, heat surged through him. Moaning, he thrust against Sam's hand as he kissed him harder, trying to get him to respond the way he had before.

Sam was a bit tentative in his response, unsure what Dean wanted from him. Not that it wasn't obvious, but did Dean plan to take him regardless? Or was there more to it? Dean had certainly given him plenty to imagine when his mouth had been in his lap working on the bandages and imagine he had. Now the Pirate King was kissing him and thrusting against him. Sam took Dean's hand and put it back on his cock, then began to respond a bit more in earnest. It had to be pleasure for both if Sam was going to willingly do anything for Dean.

Sensing Sam's capitulation, Dean deepened the kiss, chasing and teasing Sam's tongue. More, he wanted more. The press of Sam's hand over his own made him realize what Sam was asking him for. He moved his hand experimentally over Sam's groin and was immediately rewarded with Sam kissing him back and grinding his ass against Dean's cock. Breaking the kiss, Dean met Sam's eyes, and then slanted his mouth over Sam's again, this time starting a long, slow tongue fuck. 

Sam had never been kissed quite the way Dean was kissing him. It was dirty and yet sensual, and he found himself responding more and more to it, recalling his own words from his tale about the Pirate King, that he could steal the breath from anyone. More truth to it than he had expected. Sam groaned into Dean's mouth as heat coiled low in his belly. It had been so long, so very long since he'd been with anyone, and always there had been the risk of his father hearing he was with a man. Here, he had no father to worry about, here, he could do what he wanted, the world be damned.

The sounds Sam made encouraged Dean, made him want to push Sam further, made him want to push himself further, too. Moving his mouth over Sam's, he sucked Sam's tongue into his own mouth, allowed him to explore a little before taking control of the kiss again. As he moved his tongue in and out of the silky depths of Sam's mouth, his hand left Sam's cock and started to rove possessively over his body. He stroked and caressed Sam's chest, his stomach, his hip and side, his fingers sometimes digging into Sam's flesh when he forgot the man's injuries, the bandages lost among the silken shirt beneath his touch. Sliding his hand back up Sam's body, he cupped his throat and forced him to turn a little more toward him as they kissed. An ache built in his loins. He started to rock against Sam, rubbing his throbbing cock against Sam's firm ass, needing relief. The friction was so good, so damned good... just what he needed. A deep vibration sounded from his throat, sounding foreign to his own ears. 

To be in someone's arms again, to feel someone caressing him, acting like they wanted to possess him for him, struck a need in Sam so deeply, a need that brought unexpected tears to his eyes. Gabriel's death had created such a hole inside him, and his treatment by his father afterwards had been salt poured repeatedly into a gaping wound. He realized he wanted and needed this. Dean had taken him against his will only a few days prior but as far as he was concerned, it wasn't the same man holding him now. This wasn't even the same place. There were no chains on his wrists, even if his wrists bore the injuries from them. He back was scored, but that was not unexpected punishment for his escape attempt. He knew he was still a prisoner being held for ransom, but he had been free yesterday to help the doctor help the injured. To feel useful helping the crew. They had even laughed and joked as if he were among friends. He knew he was deluding himself but he needed that delusion. He needed to know only one thing before continuing further. Dean's answer to his question would make him happy, or bringing him crashing back to reality.

Sam broke the kiss and gasped for air. "Tell me one thing, Pirate King. If I were to ask you to stop, not to take me, would you?"

Just watching Sam gasp for air like that sent blood surging to Dean's already aching cock. He'd begun to lean in again when Sam's question had him glancing at the wall where he'd taken Sam against his will. Though he'd clouded his mind with alcohol, he remembered. Remembered how rough he'd been, just wanting to get it over with. He remembered the blood and the sounds of pain. He remembered the screams, but those were only in his head, screams of the past. 

Pulling his gaze away, his eyes locked with Sam's. Odd. He saw no anger in them, no recriminations. Just the same desire he'd glimpsed the day before when he'd helped with Sam's bandages. That, and a question in his eyes. Dean licked his lips and stroked the side of Sam's face with the tips of his fingers. "Ask me to stop," he answered finally, hoping Sam would. It would be better that way. Clearer. Even if he was burning with need, with desire for the last person he should want like this for a hundred different reasons and more.

The words were not the answer Sam wanted to hear, but the look in Dean's eyes was. "No. I just needed to know that you would, that this isn't...what it was before. That you want this because of me and not revenge." He gave Dean a light kiss. "I want this too, right now. Do what you will but be gentle until the throes of passion take you. When they do, there will be no censure from me for...enthusiasm." Sam's eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief, making it clear he expected Dean to find that passion and for it to be a night worth remembering. He locked his lips with Dean's, thrusting his tongue inside as he ran his hand up Dean's side, using his ass to give Dean rhythmic pressure against his hardened cock 

Dean ought not feel relieved, but that was exactly how he felt as Sam picked up where they'd stopped. His body reacted instantly to the pressure against his cock, his blood heating... inching through his veins. As their tongues dueled, he moved his hand down Sam's body to his cock and squeezed, and rubbed, moving in counter-rhythm to his own thrusts against Sam's ass. The pressure started to build and Dean's first instinct was to tear both their clothes off and take Sam, fuck him hard until they both came. To rush through it, the way he always did. But Sam's request that he be gentle at first kept him in check.

Their breaths grew harsh, their movements more desperate. Dean pushed Sam's shirt up, parted from him long enough to get it off and then covered his mouth once again with his own. After kissing him fiercely, he moved lower, kissing Sam's throat almost experimentally. Encouraged by the way Sam moved his head to give him more access, Dean licked and kissed his way down and over to his shoulder. Sweeping his hand up over the tight muscles of his stomach, he rested his fingers briefly over Sam's nipple. Raising his head to watch Sam's reactions, he rubbed his thumb over it, then pinched it lightly between his thumb and index finger.

Sam threw his head back even more as Dean tweaked and toyed with his nipple, his breath hitching, groaning softly. "Yessss," hissed from him. He could tell by Dean's almost tentative touches that Dean had never made love with a man before. He seemed to be experimenting, trying to figure out how to pleasure Sam. With that in mind, whenever Dean did something particularly right and pleasurable, he made sure Dean knew it. Sam ran his own fingers over Dean's arm, then back along his body, stroking him and touching everywhere he could reach. His fingers drifted down the cleft of Dean's ass to his hole, pressing and teasing it lightly. "You'll need...to stretch me..." Sam got out between gasps of pleasure as Dean obviously took delight in teasing and torturing his nipples. "With your fingers. Wet or buttered...is best." 

Though he was still clad in light trousers, Dean tensed when Sam ran his fingers between his ass cheeks. It took a few seconds for Sam's words to sink in, for him to understand that Sam wasn't asking for what Dean would never agree to. It amazed him that the simple touch hadn't made him go to a dark place, that he wasn't pushing Sam away or walking out. He nodded, then answered, "Alright." Bracing on his elbow, he dipped his head down and licked Sam's nipple, curling the tip of his tongue around it, then sucking on it. The shudder that went through Sam had Dean smiling slightly as he licked and sucked again.

Sliding his mouth down a little lower and dropping a kiss over Sam's stomach, Dean pulled up and climbed over Sam, to get to the other side of the bed. He started to unfasten Sam's pants, his gaze sweeping over him, noticing his wet and swollen lips and flushed skin. He'd seen a lot of men half-naked on the deck, especially in the hot summers when they were in the Caribbean. Never had he thought any man looked beautiful, not until now. And never had the thought of being with a man made his stomach flutter and tighten, the way it was doing right now as he pushed his hand inside Sam's trousers and stroked his hard flesh. The last time he'd touched another man's cock, he'd been shivering with fear. This time, it sent a tingle up from his palm to his arm and made him want to see more. 

Pulling his hand out, he walked to the bottom of the bed, gripped the bottom of Sam's trousers and tugged hard, hard enough to pull the material right off. He wasn't sure if it was Sam's shocked expression, or the sight of him, unclothed, erect, and waiting, that had him giving a genuine smile. Walking to the door, he barred it then took the cover off the tray on the table and picked up the small plate of butter. Bringing it with him, he set it on the bed and started to undo his own trousers. "Will you be able to bear my weight?" he asked, seeing Sam had rolled onto his back now.

Sam's mouth had dropped open slightly as he stared at Dean in all his glory. He had seen him change, had seen him naked, but this...his heart was thumping in his chest like it never had before. The man was gorgeous. And he didn't fail to notice the scars on Dean's back. Dean had been whipped more times than Sam could even imagine. He gave Dean a smile. "Not if you get as enthusiastic in your love-making as I suspect you will. When we're ready, I'll turn over, on my hands and knees, then you can take me," Sam gave him a flirtatious smile, "as hard as his majesty desires. But can you lay on top of me, to kiss me and caress me? Yes, I can bear your weight for that, I'm sure. If not, I'll tell you." Sam honestly wasn't certain he could, but he wanted to see Dean's face and touch him the way Dean had been touching him. Turning on to his back had been an experiment and his back didn't hurt as much as he had expected, which he was glad for. 

"Why do I get the feeling you just told me what you want?" Dean continued to speak as he got on the bed, putting one knee between Sam's thighs, and crawling up his body, hovering over him, "Lay down on top of you and kiss you, touch you. Then fuck you, hard." As he stared intently down at Sam, he couldn't bring himself to say 'make love.' He'd never made love to anyone, not before. Lowering himself slowly, his elbows still bearing most of his weight, he whispered against Sam's ear, "Aye, I think you'll get what you want, Lord Winchester." The more he used the title, the less it hurt.

Nipping Sam's earlobe, he made his way down, tracing the contours of his strong jaw. Working his way to Sam's mouth, he licked across it, the sucked his lower lip into his own mouth. When he released it, it was a deep scarlet and slightly puffy. He shifted slightly, pressing his arousal against Sam's hip and grinding his thigh against Sam's cock, moaning softly at the sensation that rippled through him. Slanting his mouth over Sam's, he gave him a hard, hungry kiss, sliding his mouth back and forth and working his tongue deep into his mouth. Cupping Sam's jaw, he moved his face where he wanted, kissing him harder as his body burned with lust.

Sam could tell Dean didn't get the concept of sweet, loving and gentle, not really. Sex, that was all he had ever had. Maybe that was the way of the pirate. Probably had short lives, so take what you can when you can. It took some effort, but Sam managed to get the leverage to roll them over so he was on top of Dean. He grinned down at him. "Tell me if you like this."

With that, Sam started kissing Dean, pulling back anytime Dean started getting aggressive. His hands roamed gently and caressingly over Dean's body. Kissing his way down Dean's body, he reached his neck where he slowly sucked a red mark in place. He teased Dean's nipples and rocked back against Dean's hard arousal. Sliding down further, he investigated Dean's body with his tongue and lips, licking and nipping and tasting, all the while giving Dean stimulation by playing with his nipples, sucking on them, and occasionally brushing is fingers over Dean's cock. He pretended just a little that it was Gabriel he was pleasuring so he could be sure to give Dean a taste of what making love was all about. Running his fingers over the handprint-like birthmark on Dean's shoulder, he stretched his fingers out, laying his hand over it. "A perfect fit. Like you were meant to be mine," Sam murmured, kissing the birthmark then and sliding his lips over to Dean's and kissing him passionately.

At first, Dean hadn't been sure he would like this at all, the reversal in their positions. But once Sam started to kiss him and touch him, all thoughts of rolling Sam onto his back again fled his mind. Sam's kisses were intoxicating. He tried to get more and was a little frustrated when Sam kept pulling away, but then Sam would touch him a certain way, or give him pleasure in a different place, and his complaints would die on his lips. His own hands roamed over Sam, gently over his back, but far more roughly over his ass and the backs of his powerful thighs. He hadn't touched him, hadn't explored his body, hadn't really even looked at him much when he'd taken Sam against the wall. This was different, and he had to admit he was following Sam's cues, emulating his touches when his brain worked. "Ungh..." a groan broke from Dean as he lifted his hips, pushing back against Sam hard cock, needing the friction and very aware of the hot, wet trails they were leaving on each others' bodies. He tensed slightly when he felt Sam's attention go to his cursed birth mark, felt his eye sting with unwanted tears both at Sam's words, and the soft kiss he pressed over the mark.

As Sam kissed him, the need for dominance flared within Dean. Lifting his head, he chased Sam's mouth, kissing him back with equal fervor, refusing to allow him to break the kiss too soon. The heat between them intensified. Dean cupped Sam's ass, squeezing it as he lifted his hips, demanding more, bucking against him. He was so hard and heavy, he ached. "Sam..." he said thickly, sliding his mouth over Sam's throat, sucking his sensitive flesh into his mouth. "Want..." Patience, Sam had told him to exercise it, so he fought his needs, taking only what he could without rolling over on top like he wanted. 

Smiling at him, Sam nodded, stroking his hair as Dean buried his face in the crook of Sam's neck. "Me too." He reached for the butter and slid off of Dean. Laying down on his back, he pulled his legs up. "Dip your fingers in the butter, rub it over my hole, then slowly start working some of it inside using one finger only. Gentle and slow, give my body a chance to get used to you as you pump in and out, like it was your cock. Then two fingers and stretch me, making me ready for you. When your fingers are deep inside, curl them and search for a nub of sorts, something that's a little different, and brush across it with your fingers. Like there is a spot in a woman that makes her writhe and squeal, so too do we men have it. Once I am ready or you cannot take it any more, I will roll over. You will stroke yourself a little harder still, using more of the butter, and then press slowly into me. Do not mind any sound I make unless I say stop. And then all I need is for you to hold still while I adjust to your presence filling me." 

In truth, Dean had never heard of any such magical spot inside a woman or a man. He was a bit skeptical, but it mattered not. Seeing Sam so exposed, his gaze sought Sam's. He didn't see any fear or shyness or embarrassment, just that flirty smile that he was beginning to get used to. Before he reached for the butter, his gaze roved over Sam's proudly standing cock. It had given him much pleasure when Sam touched him, and he wanted to return it. He slid his hand down Sam's inner thigh, feeling his muscles rippling under his palm as he made his way up his hip toward his cock angling at his stomach.

Touch it. Touch it now, afore I have your hide boy!"

Blinking away the past, Dean forced himself to touch. His hand shook slightly as he closed his fingers around it but he hoped Sam wouldn't notice. Satin soft skin stretched tight over hard flesh glistening with pre-cum. A soft sound, so different from the ugly grunts and orders that plagued his mind, left Sam. He liked the sound. He liked the plea in Sam's eyes and the way he lifted his hips slightly. Slowly, he started to stroke his fist up and down, squeezing lightly with each stroke. As more liquid beaded at Sam's tip, Dean couldn't bring himself to lick it off, he didn't want any other memories to interfere. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over Sam's crown, biting his lip as he imagined Sam's hand touching him the same way. He started to stroke Sam faster, loving his reactions, loving how watching those reactions affected himself, winding Dean up tight low in his belly. Realizing the need to be inside this man was growing, he released Sam and dipped his fingers in the butter. Slowly, he started to work the butter around and into his hole. 

Although Dean seemed hesitant at first, when his hand closed around Sam's cock Sam's eyes practically rolled back in his head. The gentle yet firm way Dean worked him, it was good, very good. He could tell Dean wanted to lick the pre-cum away but just couldn't. He understood, the first time he had tasted Gabriel that way it had been almost scary for him. As Dean worked him harder Sam's hips began to thrust. So good, so damned good...and then Dean's touch was gone and Sam cried out softly at the loss of pressure. "One hand, butter, one hand, me," Sam begged. "Just touch me or squeeze me. Good distraction for when you first enter me." 

Sam's pleas almost sent Dean over the edge. Biting his lip hard to center himself, he first stroked his own cock a few times, then moved his hand back to Sam's. Leaning over him, he pumped slowly as he started to push his finger inside. Watching Sam thrust and writhe like that, Dean found that his own hips were moving, though he had no pressure on his cock. It only made him want, that much more, to be inside Sam, wrapped in the same tight heat now squeezing around his finger. Working him a little while longer, he started to push a second finger inside, stretching him the way he'd been instructed. 

When his fingers were sliding in and out of Sam more easily, Dean started to curl his fingers slightly, his eyes seeking Sam's as he tried to find the pleasure point of which he'd spoken. He didn't even have to ask if he'd gotten it right, he had his answer by the way Sam tightened around his finger and cried out with pleasure. He touched Sam in that place again and again, loving how it made Sam thrust into his palm almost like it was out of his control. His own eyes darkened with lust as he imagined making Sam react the same way with his cock inside him. 

Sam's balls had grown heavy and need was strong on him with the way Dean kept tickling his prostate. He was out of breath, gasping and writhing. "Oh God Dean, I can't...not much longer. I'm stretched...please," Sam begged, not caring if he wasn't perhaps as stretched as he could be, but he wanted desperately to come at the same time as Dean and Dean had him at the edge already.

Releasing Sam, Dean crawled up and kissed him lightly, feeling his balls tighten at the way Sam's hot breaths panted across his face and made him sound desperate for it. Pulling back and sitting on his knees, he used the butter to lubricate his own cock, moaning as he stroked himself and watched Sam with hungry eyes, needing him just as desperately.

Sam lay for a moment, trying to gather his wits. He saw the look on Dean's face and in his eyes and knew that Dean was probably going to be rough, but he had told Dean he could have him the way he wanted. With a groan, he forced himself to sit up, pre-cum thick on his cock and drizzled around it. He turned over and got on his hands and knees, spreading his legs. He found his balance so that Dean could pound into him and he ought still be able to stay in this position. Looking back over his shoulder, his lusty eyes stared at Dean. "Push slow, get your crown in, then stop, give me a moment then inch your way in. It will be hard, you'll want to thrust and take me, but I trust you." He wasn't entirely certain he did trust Dean to have that sort of control, but by adding that he trusted Dean, he hoped it would help Dean stay grounded and that the man would do as he asked.

Knowing full well Sam had no reason to trust him, Dean gave a solemn nod. 

Leaning over Sam, Dean ran his hands over his broad shoulders, sweat slicked skin and rippling muscles, down his scarred and welt-marked bandaged back and over the firm contours of his ass and thighs. Making a choked sound, he stepped closer on his knees, this time blanketing Sam's body, fitting his snugly against Sam's. His cock nudged against Sam's ass. He thrust lightly, rubbing his cock over Sam's butter-slicked hole and gripping his hips, pulling for more pressure. The slow torture suddenly flared into sexual need and he almost gave in to thoughts of taking Sam in one strong thrust. Cursing, he gripped Sam a little tighter and started to push inside slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as his crown made it past the muscle barrier. Tensing every muscle in his body, he forced himself to just pulse, pushing in a little at a time. "Ngh..." He pulled out a little and pushed again, getting more of himself inside Sam and sucking his breath in at how hot and tight Sam was around him. 

Sam's head dropped as he felt Dean push inside him, giving a soft groan as the man's large cock breached him. Dean did just as Sam asked, gave him time, slowly easing his way in deeper and deeper. Lifting his head up and arching back, he grunted, pushing back a little, helping Dean sink inside him. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his lover's body wrapped around him and filling him. He reached back and took hold of Dean's right hand, guiding it to his own throbbing member. Lightly covering Dean's hand as he guided it up and down his shaft, clenching and releasing Dean's cock with his inner muscles, he set a slow rhythm. He twisted his head, seeking Dean's mouth. "Kiss me," he begged.

He was inside Sam so deep that his hips were flat against Sam's ass and when Sam started to squeeze around him, it took every last shred of Dean's control to keep still. Then Sam was moving, signaling he could start to take him. Between that, and the sight of his parted lips as he pleaded for a kiss, Dean was almost undone. Leaning in, he captured Sam's mouth with his, twisting his tongue around Sam's as he started to thrust his hips. Each movement sent intense waves of pleasure through him and had him moving a little faster. His hand pleasured Sam, squeezing him, taking cues from Sam's own body. Each time he tried to go too fast, Sam found a way to slow him down, clenching tighter around him, making it impossible for him to push or pull out quickly. It was frustrating. It was maddening. It was a delicious agony, like none he'd ever felt before. His moans punctuated his kisses as they found a rhythm.

Dean started to angle his hips and vary his strokes. Sometimes he'd pull out almost all the way and enter Sam again in one clean thrust, sometimes he fucked him with short strokes, learning how to touch that place inside Sam that seemed to drive him mad with pleasure and need. Steadily, Dean moved faster and harder, the need for more friction, for release coiling tighter and tighter inside him. When it got unbearable, he pushed down on Sam's back, grunting as he thrust hard, lifting Sam slightly off the bad. "Yeah... ungh." He knew what he wanted, that's what he needed and that's what he would have. Moving with almost brutal force, he drove himself deeper, his balls slapping against Sam's with each thrust. Pulling his mouth away, he dropped his head down next to Sam's and squeezed his eyes closed, grunting urgently as he chased his release. 

The push on his back had Sam collapsing as his injured back sent pain through him, making him inhale sharply. Dean was lost to lust, but Sam took it, for he had promised him he would if Dean began gently and the sex had been good. Sam's own needs withered a little and he lost the rhythm, and he could sense Dean's frustration. Re-situating himself so he could push back, he thrust back as Dean shoved forward, clenching and trying to give Dean what he needed even as his own needs began to climb again every time Dean hit the spot of pleasure inside him. Increasing his speed, the sound of flesh slapping flesh growing more rapid and Sam felt his balls draw up. He keened in pleasure as his release exploded, Dean's name on his lips.

Gut clenching spasms rocked Dean as he came hard deep inside Sam, spilling his release as he shouted Sam's name out in turn. Even as he kept fucking, kept moving his mouth over Sam's shoulder, kept taking his pleasure, he knew this was wrong, that he was wrong for taking his brother. But even the thought of his mother's disappointment, it didn't stop him. It hadn't before, and it couldn't now. His last thrusts were punctuated by his grunts, then he whispered his brother's name once more, kissing the side of his throat and pulling out of him before he collapsed on the bed. Immediately, he put one heavy hand over Sam, keeping him next to himself.

Sam chuckled softly at Dean's obvious desire for Sam to stay beside him. He propped himself up and gave Dean a slow, leisurely kiss. "You're a fast learner, majesty," he said, then settled down beside Dean, sliding back against him. How ironic was it that the first time he didn't have to worry about his father was because he was a prisoner, and his keeper was a conundrum, of that he was sure. When Dean's arm settled over him again, he clutched it lightly and sighed with something approaching contentment.

"When I like the lesson." Dean moved his hand, stroking Sam's chest. "And the teacher."

Did he? Was he coming to like his brother now? Could he go from hating him to liking him even a little? And was this Sam's true face? He'd beaten Sam, punished him, should he be surprised that Sam flattered him now? Too many questions swirled in Dean's mind. His life used to be black and white. He used to know exactly who was to blame for his circumstances, and that both of those men were blackguards. He knew he wanted to make Samuel suffer just as much as he wanted his father to suffer. But now... now he wasn't sure about anything anymore.

"You, sir, just like my kissing," Sam teased. "And we are both a mess. Let me up and I'll retrieve wet cloths." He twisted his head a bit and looked into Dean's face with a bit of mischief. "It's most fun when we take turns cleaning each other up."

"There is more fun to be had? Well then, by all means." Before he released Sam, he slid his hand behind his head and drew him down for a kiss. Neither of them rushed it, and he was out of breath by the time their lips parted. Watching Sam leave the bed and knowing he'd be back, a strange peace settled over Dean. The thoughtful frown he usually wore melted away and he found himself grinning as he made no bones about the way his eyes roamed over Sam's naked body, or his enjoyment of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=zupbpd)
> 
> Art by Nat!

Sam knew he was being watched and made sure to give the Pirate King a tiny bit of a show. He poured some water into the wash basin and then retrieved some rags...which had once been one of his rather fine shirts. On the way back to the basin he let one slip from his hand and bent over, giving Dean a nice view of his ass. Unhurried, he finished the walk to the basin and dropped the rags in, soaking them, then ringing them out. When he returned, he tossed Dean a rag. "Catch!" he said with a chuckle, then open his own rag up with a bit of an evil gleam in his eyes. "I get to go first! I need to show you the proper way to clean up after a rousing bit of good sex."

Heading back, Sam dropped to his knees by the bed and bent over, kissing Dean's bare stomach, running his tongue across it, then following up with the cold wet rag, chuckling when Dean made a sound of complaint. Sam blew across Dean's stomach. "Have to dry it, then check to see if you're clean." After a few more breaths across Dean's belly, Sam leaned in again and danced his tongue around Dean's navel, slipping his tongue down inside. "Mmm, needs a little more here, methinks," he murmured and sucked on that sensitive flesh as he slowly wiped the wet rag over Dean's stomach.

After the initial shock of the cold water, all Dean felt was heat. Heat from Sam's breaths across his sensitive skin. Heat from his wet tongue, teasing his stomach and navel. And heat from his own body's all too obvious response. "You may be good at many things," Dean said, running his fingers through Sam's silky soft hair. "But I suspect cleaning up isn't one of them. If you're not careful, we're both going to be a lot dirtier ... and stickier, before we've even started washing." The impish smile he received in return had Dean rolling his eyes and unsuccessfully holding back a chuckle.

Sam tapped two fingers lightly on Dean's forehead. "Now he's getting it!" Laughing, he turned back to Dean's stomach, working his tongue up toward Dean's nipples. Tsking, he shook his head. "This just won't do. Look at how flabby those nipples are!" Sam ran his tongue around and around Dean's right nipple while he circled the other with the cool washcloth. He nipped and sucked and then switched attention from one nipple to the other. "Now you know," Sam said, as he began kissing his way down Dean's chest, "I have no idea when a captain is needed on deck, so give me fair warning." Twisting his head to look up at Dean, he ran the washcloth over Dean's cock and balls, then suddenly sucked Dean's cock into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it as he tightened his lips and then tongued Dean's slit before sucking on his cock again. 

Since he'd locked the door, Dean wasn't worried about company. However, while he was thinking about that and enjoying the attention Sam was lavishing on his nipples and stomach, relaxing, he failed to expect Sam's next move. The instant his cock was encased in the wet heat of Sam's mouth, Dean gave a start, almost coming off the bed. Resting his hands on Sam's shoulders, he watched, lips parted and breaths panting out as his cock alternately disappeared in and out of Sam's mouth and was licked. His gaze was riveted on Sam's tongue, and the things he was doing, things that had Dean writhing. "It's good to know your tongue is clever in matters other than speech," he grit out, trying to hold back a moan.

Sam looked at Dean and rolled his eyes, then lifted a finger as if he had an idea. He took Dean's cock deep into his mouth and began to hum a pirate song he had heard once. 

Stunned, Dean was speechless. Even as pleasure coursed through him, he started to shake with laughter, at first keeping it silent but then unable to. Between his laughs, he tried to sing along with Sam's humming, though it was futile. "I vow, I will not be able to hear that song again without remembering this ... moment," he said, his voice rising slightly in reaction to Sam sucking him harder. One hand on the bed, gripping the bed clothes, the other in Sam's hair, encouraging him, Dean started to thrust. "Good... " The rest of his words were unintelligible as he started climbing towards release. His balls tightened against his body. His fingers curled into Sam's hair. "Now... Yes!" His shout was accompanied by his release, a rope of cum leaving him only to be swallowed down by Sam. Eyes wide, he mumbled, "By all that's holy..." 

Sam made sure he didn't lose a drop as he milked Dean for everything he was worth. Finally letting Dean's flaccid cock fall from his lips, he wiped the damp cloth over Dean's cock and balls, then looked at him with a smirk. Leaning in, he planted a light kiss on Dean's lips, then a second slightly harder one, then a third, opening his mouth and trying to tease Dean's tongue to enter his own mouth and taste himself. 

Dean brushed Sam's tongue with his, then again, then chased it into his mouth. As he played a game of catch with it, he realized that he was tasting himself. The thought was so dirty, it had him moaning and pulling Sam into his arms, his hand cupping Sam's head as he deepened the kiss. "You're very... very tricky," he said between kisses, "and taste like a pirate of the seas." Kissing him once more, he rolled Sam onto his back, and picked up the other washcloth. As he cleaned Sam's stomach and thighs, he kissed his jaw and throat, dragged his teeth along his sensitive flesh and licked him. He tasted every inch of Sam's chest, kissed and sucked his way down to his stomach, and butterflied kisses along his hip bone. By the time he lifted his head, Sam was hard. 

Meeting Sam's gaze, Dean knew what was expected, but he didn't want to ruin this. He'd enjoyed himself too much to tempt fate like that. Cupping Sam's cock, he rolled him onto his side, and as he squeezed and stroked his hard flesh, he cleaned his ass and thighs. Dropping the washcloth, he splayed one hand across Sam's ass, and used it to push Sam, rolling him toward the fist that gripped his cock, helping him to thrust into it. Slowly, he eased his hand down and cupped Sam's balls from behind, and squeezed lightly, alternating the movements of his hands.

Sam had seen the look in the captain's eyes and knew that in the past Dean had been forced into sexual acts. He wondered if that had anything to do with the way Dean had treated and abused Sam at first. "Mmm, creative," Sam groaned, "I like." He'd been confused at first as to what Dean was doing, where he was going with this, but when Dean reached between his legs and fondled his balls, a shudder of pleasure went through him. The alternating squeezing and stroking made him even harder. He began thrusting faster into Dean's fist, harder and faster, feeling his balls tightening with every squeeze Dean gave them. He gripped Dean's shoulder, digging his fingers in as he felt his balls tighten and he sprayed his hot seed across the floor. Gasping he looked at Dean and grinned. "I love a creative man," Sam said and pulled Dean down on top of him, kissing him firmly. "Mmm, do we get to sleep a bit, or must we get up soon?" Sam yawned. He flushed a bit when his stomach growled. "Of course food is a good motivator for getting up..."

"Mmm? There's bread, cheese and... you finished the butter," Dean teased, lifting off Sam and heading to the table. He brought the tray back to the bed, as well as the pitcher that was half full with wine. Setting them down on the nightstand, he pulled on the light pants he usually slept in and got a pair out of the chest at the bottom of the wardrobe, for Sam. "It will be perfect for wading in water with," he joked. By now, the deck would have been swabbed clear of water.

Unlocking the door, he returned to the bed and pulled the pillows up so they could sit as they ate and drank. "Afterwards, you may sleep. I've had enough." Chewing on a piece of bread and cheese, he inspected Sam's face, the way his mouth almost always quirked upwards at the corners in a smile or an almost smile. In his mind, his imagination, Sam's features were always set in a sulky angry expression, like the one he'd seen when he'd saved Sam from the oncoming carriage. Sensing he'd been caught staring, Dean shrugged. "I'm not used to bed play... before or after." Pulling his gaze away, he tore off another piece of bread.

"That's half the fun. Teasing one another, talking about things that are most bizarre conversations but only because you are naked, curled up with your lover. Many of Gabriel's reading and writing lessons were after sex. That is mostly because we couldn't focus long enough until we had had sex." Sam chuckled. "And you saw what fun cleansing each other can be after the first round, though it can and does lead to more sex oft enough." 

Sam studied Dean, taking in his profile and the way he moved, admiring him in a way he would never do in public. "Thank you, Dean. For letting me help after the storm and not asking me to stay in the cabin. And for giving me a second chance." He wished he knew what he had done that had caused such hate of him in this man, but he hoped he was proving himself to be a better man than Dean originally thought. Sam took a long sip of the wine and then gave another chuckle. "My father's wine ... this. It's some of his better stock. Rarely would he let me partake of his finer quality wines. This is a perfect and delicious way to end a very excellent evening. Or morning. Whichever it is."

A second chance? What did that really mean? There were no real second chances in life. What was done, was done. Dean was glad Sam went on to talk about the drink, that way he wouldn't have to agree or disagree about second chances. "If the wine is precious to him, then I'll drink to his loss," Dean said with a genuine grin, reaching across Sam to get the glass off the table, then drinking part of it down. "And to his continued losses." 

He was lost in thought for a few minutes, then he climbed over Sam and got out of bed again. He needed to clear his mind, and it simply wasn't possible to do so in his quarters, not after what had just happened. Selecting one of his black shirts, he started to pull it on and did his best to ignore the open admiration in Sam's eyes and the flirty quirk of his lips. 

Dean's stomach muscles tensed up. He wasn't sure why he felt threatened, but there it was, it was how he was feeling. Mayhaps he'd seen one too many men manipulated into changing the course of their lives by what was between their lover's legs. When he finished, he pushed the paneling aside and walked to the door, then turned to look at Sam. "What happened between us. It doesn't change anything. You're still my captive." 

"I know," Sam said, sadness touching his eyes. "I'm still only ransom to you. But you've given me more freedom in the past day than I've had much of my life. And you will return me to _his_ chains in but seven days. So I will continue to take what freedom you grant while I can."

When Dean stepped out the door, Sam poured more wine into his goblet and sipped and savored it, trying not to think on what the next hours might bring.

* * * 

After he deemed that no further course corrections were in order and determined there was no damage to the hull that they might have missed in the morning, Dean left the helm and walked to a lonely part of the deck, leaned against the railing and looked out at the glassy waters reflecting the golden hues of the sun now dipping down into the horizon. He had to have been deep in thought because he was barely aware of Rufus' presence until the man spoke in his low, gravelly voice.

"I gather his Lordship survived."

Dean turned his head. "Survived what?"

"You." 

Seeing Rufus' all too seeing eyes pointedly focused on his lips, which were a little swollen, and then at the mark on his throat, Dean knew what Rufus was getting at. "By now, you've interrogated Alfred and have your answer."

"Just so. Lord Winchester seems to be in the same shape as you." Rufus put his hand on the Captain's back, patting it, before letting his hand fall away. "You seem different. Don't deny it, I've known you too long."

Dean pulled his gaze away and looked straight ahead, refusing to answer.

"It's hard, isn't it."

"What?" Dean's tone was curt, almost impatient.

"Hating a real person. Especially when you have them close."

A muscle throbbed in Dean's jaw. "He tells a good tale now and again, and he can be amusing. My father," he turned then and gave a bitter smile. "He could be amusing too. In the right mood, he'd have everyone laughing. He could make the world believe he was a wonderful man. He could make a _son_ believe he was the most important thing in the world, defects and all. It didn't mean it was real."

"Figuring out what is and what isn't real, that's the trick. You have a talent for reading people, use it. Forget the hate you have wrapped around you like a mantle. Listen with your heart."

Dean gave a snort. "How many times must I tell you I have none?" He looked over his shoulder toward the stairs that lead to his quarters, then back at Rufus. "Who he really is matters not. He may not be broken, the way I swore he would be when I turned him over, but by God... I will get my father's last coin, I will leave him on a pile of ashes. I am in the right in this, Rufus." The man's non-committal smile irritated him, but his words didn't.

"We all want that ransom, Captain. We'll get it." With that, Rufus walked away.

*

The music on the deck was loud. Feet stomped to the beat, and some danced. Food was passed around and the drinks flowed. Dean had already eaten, but stood leaning against a barrel and drinking, sometimes singing. Seeing Alfred, he waved him over and gave him an order.

Moments later, Alfred scrambled up the stairs and walked into the Captain's quarters. "Sir," he said, walking around the screen.

Sam was half dozing when Alfred's words startled him to alertness. "You can call me Sam," he told Alfred with a smile and sat up. He pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the chamberpot. "What can I do for you Alfred?" Sam asked as he emptied his bladder. "Sounds like they're having fun out there."

"Aye Sir... Sam. Dinner is being passed about and there's a celebration. The Captain said you can join the crew." He scratched his head, "I'm not certain it wasn't an order."

"Does he ever not give an order?" Sam asked with a laugh. "Are there any clothes that won't make me look like gentry, that will make me look more like one of the crew? All I have is my finery, at least, those which haven't been shredded. Do you think the captain would mind if I wore one of his shirts?" Sam gave a sigh. "Though he might think I'm trying to manipulate people. I'm just trying...I just want to be comfortable." 

He brightened suddenly and dug through one of his trunks and pulled out a shirt. "Could I borrow your knife?" Sam asked. He saw the hesitation in Alfred's face. "I'll give it right back, my word. I just want to cut the stitching on the ruffles." Alfred slowly held out the knife to Sam. Sam quickly sliced through the stitches on the ruffles at the collar and the cuffs, ripped them off and tossed them aside, then handed Alfred back his knife. He pulled the shirt on, leaving the top couple of buttons undone, and slipped out of the sleeping pants Dean had given him, pulling on some of his own pants and then his boots. He turned to Alfred and held his arms away from his body a little as if modeling the outfit. "What do you think? A little less stuffy?"

"You look like a regular pirate now, though I did like the ruffles," Alfred answered with a smile. He put his hand on the door handle, then turned. "You must have made the captain very happy, helping Doc. He seemed almost cheerful, but don't tell him that."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "It takes a great deal of practice not to drag those bloody ruffles through your dinner plate or spill food down the front into the ruffles. And in the wind, they just blow about being annoying. If you like them though, take them, you could put them on one of your shirts for the next time you go ashore to woo a girl." That the cabin boy thought Dean was cheerful because Sam helped the doctor almost made Sam laugh. "Yes, I'm sure that contributed to it," he said with a grin and then headed out.

Stepping off the last stair, Sam walked up to Dean on the deck. "You requested my presence, Captain?"

"Did I?" Dean looked over at him, noticing the changes to his clothes. "Well go on and get a plate. Some of the crew thought you should be out here celebrating," he shrugged. 

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Huh," Sam said, not sure whether to believe him or not. 

He grabbed a plate and having learned a handful of the crew's names, greeted each one in turn, asking about their health if he'd helped the doc with them, or their work if he'd assisted them in something. He partook of the food and ale and then when encouraged to dance, Sam did his best to emulate the dances he was unfamiliar with. Having gone to the pub with Gabriel, at least some of the songs he did know and could dance to. He finally had to beg out and take a break and got a fresh ale, bringing one over for Dean as well. "It's a nice night out. I hope we don't have any more wicked storms over the next week. One like that was quite enough for me for awhile."

"It's good for the constitution." Dean raised the mug to his mouth and took a drink. "You're a bit like a chameleon. Change of clothes, change of..." he waved his hand, "manners of speech." He'd noticed Sam's speech had lost it's town polish and he was using more vulgarities than he usually did. "You'd make a good actor." _How am I to discern when you are acting, and when you're not?_ Rufus was wrong, he could not sort out his feelings or judge this man's character.

Sam took a deep drink of the ale. "Gabriel and I went to the pubs down in the rougher sections of town. If I sounded like 'Lord Winchester' we'd have been robbed of what few coin we had. I wanted to fit in with the people he knew and just be a regular person. I much prefer less fancy dress, but I will admit," Sam said with a hint of embarrassment, "I do prefer finer quality material to the rough cloth many of the poor are forced to wear. I _am_ spoiled that way, but I don't need silk. Your shirts, or even Alfred's, they are easily fine enough to suit me. I just don't like the rough woven cloth. Gabriel would sometimes make me wear them, to remind me of my good fortune when I was complaining about something that really, I was fortunate to have. As for my speech," Sam shrugged, "I address people the way they seem to wish to be addressed and talked with. It helps put them at ease. You, I notice, also change speech talking to me versus your men. Is that so different?" 

"There goes your clever tongue, running off with you again. You compare yourself to me?" Dean gave Sam a hard look, saw the man's look of trepidation, then snapped his fingers, calling Alfred over. "Sam thinks he's a pirate. Show him the steps to our own jig, and then we'll see what sort of pirate he makes, eh?"

Others had heard and started to come over, grinning widely. 

Alfred complied, hopping on one foot, crossing the other, kicking out each foot in turn. He bent his elbows and turned and repeated the steps and touched the floor with one hand as the crowd called out, "ho!"

The fiddler started the music with a slow beat while several others stomped and slammed their hands atop the barrels. The other musicians got into the act and Dean pushed away from the barrel he was leaning on.

Smirking, Dean stood in front of Sam and started to dance, clapping his hands between steps, clearly challenging him to keep up.

Sam wasn't sure at first what to make of Dean, whether he had upset the captain once again and overstepped his bounds. He watched Alfred intensely then was startled when Dean began dancing. A grin split Sam's face suddenly and he joined Dean out on the floor, making some initial mis-steps but then began to master the dance and started adding in a few fancy steps in a return challenge to Dean. His backed ached with the sharp moves, but he would not let aches keep him from having a bit of fun for the first time in months. 

Incorporating Sam's steps, Dean started to jump a little higher. The tempo of the beat increased and was marked by mugs clashing and feet stomping. Dean raised an arm up and kicked his legs out, turning and shouting, "Ho!" Faster and faster, he moved, grinning as Sam mostly kept up. One of the men tossed the captain a red bandanna. Catching it, Dean waved it around as he started to circle Sam, "ha!"

Threading his arm through Sam's, Dean spun with him first one way, then the other, as the men encouraged them. When he let go, he laughed, hoping he had made the man too dizzy to follow. Taking a running leap, he jumped onto the top of a barrel, gesturing with his free hand for Sam to come on, if he dared.

Sam had been imbibing a bit and Dean spinning him around hadn't helped, but then he and Gabe had often gotten drunk and partook of the celebrations with the best of them. Sam ran and jumped up on the barrel, only to discover the barrel was apparently empty and it tipped over. Whether by reflex or just dumb luck, Sam managed to shift his weight to stand on the barrel, rolling it forward and back in a delicate balance and smirked at Dean. He rolled it forward then spun it on one end in a circle. He back-springed off the barrel to land on his feet, hiding his wince of pain, then did a hand stand on the barrel, yanking it away from the deck and thumping it back down a few times, before returning to his feet and setting the barrel up-right, jumping up onto it and sitting on it crosslegged, gesturing to Dean to try to best his moves. 

Someone had picked up a whip and was cracking it to the beat of the music that had gotten louder and louder. Reaching behind him, Dean tugged on one of the narrow wooden planks stacked against another barrel. As he started to tilt it, one of the men grabbed the other end and placed it on a barrel next to Sam's. Dean stepped onto the narrow bridge, jumping and stomping, though it bowed and bounced. Once, when he almost fell, he gave a comical shout, then tried to cover. When he neared the end, he bent over and somersaulted on one hand, landing on the barrel next to Sam.

Reaching his hand out, he pulled Sam up to stand. They moved to the impossible fast beat, now hardly jumping, just concentrating on lifting their feet and stomping back down. Dean pulled Sam with him as he jumped down. Grabbing a handful of his shirt, he slowly dragged him close, so their bodies touched as they moved. His eyes were locked with Sam's and reflected the heat in his loins.

Sam couldn't think about anything once the captain's jade eyes were locked with his own. The way Dean moved against him, the look of desire and demand in those eyes, it all but undid him. The music finally ended and Sam was panting hard, his lips close to Dean's as he stared down at him, wanting to kiss those lips, his feet finally still. "Wh-what now?" he whispered, holding himself back taking every dram of self control he had.

"Now," Dean took a step and was plastered against Sam, "time to plunder the treasure," he said, his own breaths panted out. Just as he started to close the distance between their mouths, Alfred arrived with two mugs of ale for them, chattering on about how well they'd done and never having seen the Captain dance quite so.

A look of frustration crossed Dean's features. "Go upstairs to the railing outside my quarters," he said, giving Sam the order and releasing his shirt.

Sam's lips tingled, ready for the press of Dean's against his. He stared dumbly at Dean for a moment and then took the ale from Alfred. Still panting, he crossed the deck to the stairs and climbed them. His cock had already begun to warm from Dean's presence and the heat in his eyes. From the upper deck, he heard Dean bid the men a good eve and tell them that since they had things well under control he was going to retire. Sam stood at the railing looking out over the dark waters, sipping his ale and trying to sort out what he was feeling. 

_...still my captive..._ Dean's voice rang in his mind. _...stop, Father, stop, you're killing him..._ And then the memories of his own agonized voice as he watched his lover beaten. ...If his father was indeed a pauper after he paid the ransom...assuming he paid the ransom, then there would be no servants he could threaten. Sam's friends among them would have to move on to other jobs. There was no reason to stay. If Dean made them paupers, Sam could leave, get to a university, find work and get the learning he so craved. He would be poor, but he didn't care. He smiled a little to himself. At least he did have a guinea to his name. 

The music and dancing was still going strong when Dean left the deck and climbed the stairs to find Sam exactly where he'd ordered him to be. He had a view of Sam's broad shoulders, the silky material of his shirt moving with the wind, as was his hair. He took a step toward him, making sure Sam heard. When Sam started to turn, Dean raked him up and down with his heated gaze, not hiding his lust. "I'll take that kiss now," he announced, moving in and putting his hands on the railing on either side of Sam's body, trapping him against it.

The heat from Sam's body drenched right through his clothes. Dean had never been as intensely aware of any person before and wasn't sure how much he liked this... not being fully in control of his own body.

"You will, will you?" Sam teased, though he knew there was desire in his own eyes. "Why don't you ask me to kiss you and see what you get?" He ran his hands lightly along Dean's sides. 

Lifting his hand from the railing, Dean cupped the back of Sam's head and brought his mouth down firmly over Sam's. A soft moan broke from him as he plunged his tongue inside, taking what he wanted, what he'd needed at the end of their dance. It was a hard, demanding kiss, one that brooked no resistance. It was there in the way he barred Sam's way, and the way he held his head, and in the way he practically took possession of Sam's mouth until he was satisfied and pulled back. 

"Alright," Dean said, panting slightly. "Kiss me."

Although Sam wanted the kiss, the way Dean didn't ask, but just took, upset him. He'd allowed the kiss without protest but he'd held back his passion and wasn't even sure Dean noticed. Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. Fine. He would show Dean what Dean could get if he asked. Pulling Dean up against him, he crushed his mouth to Dean's, battling his tongue with Dean's, refusing to capitulate. He poured every drop of passion that burned his blood into that kiss as he forced Dean to lean back and slid his leg between Dean's thighs, offering pressure to his cock as he continued the fiery kiss until he finally had to stop for air. "Asking always gets you more," Sam whispered against Dean's lips, straightening and pulling Dean upright as he did. 

"Why do you fight me?" Dean demanded, his breaths coming out harshly and cursing at the sudden loss of friction against his cock. "It's not wise. Don't... Don't play games with me." He stepped up to the railing, and took a deep breath and reached for the mug of ale. "If you don't want this," he motioned with his hand, "go... go downstairs, go to my quarters, do what you want. But don't say yes with your eyes and then..." Bringing the mug to his lips, he drank deeply.

Sam stepped up behind him, reaching around and caressed his chest and abdomen. "You are the captain. You order, you get. Have you never played? Teased? Flirted? I am your captive, your ransom. You demand and I will give you what you want. If you ask, if you tease and flirt, you make me feel...special and wanted and needed. Then in turn, I want to give you more, please you more and make you feel as special as you make me feel. I do want this. My blood burns inside me and all the leeches in this world could not drain away this fever you put in me. I did not mean to upset you." Sam nuzzled his neck with featherlight kisses. "I do not expect anything to change. I know I will still be your captive come morn. But I will be a sated and happy captive, and you, I hope, will be a happy and sated captain." 

Dean closed his eyes, his irritation receding under the onslaught of other sensations and emotions. Each sweep of Sam's hands over his body left trails of heat and had Dean sucking his breath in. The light kisses and warm breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh of his neck had him gripping the railing, his knuckles whitening as he leaned back a little, pressing into a wall of solid flesh and muscle, and feeling Sam's heart beating against his back. "I told you. I'm not well versed in bedplay. I am not your Gabriel. I don't have his words, or his ways." 

Thinking back on the women he'd been with, Dean realized the ones he'd only kissed had been happier with him than the one's he'd bedded. He'd paid them well but they'd expected something more than a few kisses and then for him to slake his lust as quickly as possible. They hadn't realized all he'd wanted was freedom from his state of arousal. It had been different with Sam earlier in the day because Sam had insisted on it. He'd enjoyed it, even if it confused and perplexed him. 

Dean turned his head slightly, so his lips were close to Sam's. Close enough to take what he wanted if he wanted to. "You give me fever." Licking his lips, he forced himself to continue. "What if I were to tell you that I've never burned so, for a man, for a woman, for anyone before you? That you are the last person in the world I want to burn for? That I would rid myself of these feelings if I could. That I'm afraid... that I might fall to my knees and plead for something I have never begged for nor wanted before?" He turned all the way around and gripped Sam's hips, keeping him from moving away. "Would that make you feel special? Or would it make you run as fast as your legs can take you?" 

"Obsession of any sort can block out all else. Hate can obliterate love, can make you forego the joys of life." Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair. "I am glad to know I have brought a fire into your life you have never felt. I understand that one of the objects of your hate is not something you want to feel anything for, be it mercy or happiness, lust or love. You needn't be afraid of these feelings for they show you are alive and they make you feel alive and life should always be embraced. But they too can be a thing of joy, or of downfall.

"Would I run from you? No. Can I give you what you want? I do not know. Only free men can make such choices if the choices are to have truth and merit in them." He ran the back of his fingers along Dean's cheek. "Do not mistake my words for those of one who wishes to manipulate you. I speak only truth. Reality and truth are oft at war with one another. Reality is that I am your prisoner. Reality is, that if we grow near enough to port, I may well try to escape, but I would not be running from these feelings, but rather running from being returned to my father. If we took to port and you said to me, go, you are free, I would leave, to prove to both of us that I am free to choose. I would need time to think over all that has happened, to feel the loss of the type of fire no one before but Gabriel has ever stirred in me. Then I would have to decide what I would do next, for right now, I do not know and I will not lie to you. And yes, your words make me feel special and tell me that we both have feelings we are unsure of and scare us. The reality of the days before us are held in your hand, as is my fate, but the ultimate decision of that fate is days away. There is time for you to think and consider, to choose what you need to do and what you want to do. For now, let us embrace life, embrace these feelings that may be fleeting and see where they lead us. What say you, Pirate King?"

" _Samuel_. Make no mistake, your fate was decided long before you stepped aboard my ship and nothing, nothing will change that fate. If you truly do not wish to remain with your father, then you will run from him. Surely he is easier to escape than me, and yet you tried and won't promise not to try to escape again." Dean liked things black and white. He needed clarity and lines that would not be crossed, needed to know there were absolutes. "About this..." Cupping the side of Sam's face, he brushed his thumb along Sam's lower lip, instantly feeling a jolt travel all the way up his arm. "Aye. I want more of it. In return, I will try to give you what you need. Gentler. Slower. Less demanding," he gave a wry smile, "but I make you no promises. You can't teach an old sea dog new tricks."

"Anyone can learn new things," Sam said, pressing his cheek against Dean's palm. Smiling at Dean he tightened his hold around the captain's waist. "Gentle, slow, and non-demanding isn't necessarily what I seek. I like to tease and taunt you, make it more interesting for you, but you take it as an affront when it is not meant to be. I would prefer to be treated as a lover, not a whore or prisoner when we make love. That means consensual. If you came to me and asked to take me, take me that instant, no preparation and told me that you needed it and needed me that way, I would give it to you and make it as pleasurable as I could. If you came to me and ordered it of me," Sam shook his head, "you would get it because I have no choice, but you would be met with resistance and I would make it as least pleasurable as I possibly could. Gentle and slow brings more pleasure to both of us...most times." Sam grinned. "But rough and dirty can be fun too. Am I making any sense?" he asked, finding himself staring into those jade eyes, once again transfixed. Why did those eyes soothe him so? Make him feel protected when by no rights should they do so.

"You're complicated, Lord Winchester." If Dean had hoped using the phrase would put some distance between them, it failed miserably. Closing his arms around Sam, he pulled him up hard against his frame, leaving neither of them in any doubt about the fact they were both still aroused. Wheeling Sam around, he took each of Sam's hands and then placed them on the railing on either side of Sam's body. "You just tell me _when_ you want me to kiss you." Releasing Sam's hands, he started to undo his shirt to mid chest, then slipped his hand inside, running his fingers over Sam's nipple until it tightened into a nub. When he pulled his hand away, he could see Sam's nipple standing at attention right through the thin material of his shirt. "Next time you dress like a pirate, leave your shirt open like this," he said, giving Sam a heated look that spoke volumes about how it made him feel. 

There was a long moment of silence. Anticipation. The ship swayed, and Dean rolled with it toward Sam, kissing the corner of his mouth and moving to his ear. Nuzzling it, and making his way down along his jaw and neck, he kissed and licked him. Burning to touch him, Dean moved his hands between their bodies, running them over soft material and smooth bare flesh... lingering at the opening of his shirt. Making his way down, he dipped his tongue into the hollow of Sam's throat. "Mmm, taste good. Salty like the ocean air," he whispered against Sam's skin, moving his face back and forth as he kissed his way lower. 

"What is it you would beg or plead of me that makes you think I would run from you?" Sam asked then gave a soft moan of approval as he ran his hands over Dean's back, unable to keep hold of the rails any longer. Dean's words from earlier had made him curious but as the captain worked his mouth over his flushed skin, Sam decided he could wait if the captain didn't want to answer. Everywhere those lips and tongue brushed over him was like the lightning of the storm they had endured, stirring up in Sam his own maelstrom of emotions. "Kissing now, now is good," Sam breathed, not certain if he wanted Dean's lips to continue down his body or move back up to his lips. 

"Hmm? Plead for this," he answered, fingers dipping into the waistband of Sam's trousers before he yanked him closer, covering his mouth over Sam's half bared nipple and running his tongue over material and flesh. Almost sure now that Sam didn't know their true relationship, he was equally sure that any such knowledge would make Sam run. It would make anyone run. It ought to make Dean run, but right now, he couldn't give a damn. He sucked and mouthed Sam's nipple, pushing away the wet cloth and renewing his assault until Sam shuddered. "I think I can get used to this teasing." Deliberately staring at Sam's lips and watching them part for him, he merely brushed his mouth over Sam's and dipped his head down again, kissing and exploring every inch of Sam's chiseled abs and keeping one hand partially in his pants, pressing against his belly but never moving lower. The fingertips of his other hand skittered across Sam's chest, pushing the material of his shirt out of the way, learning the planes of his body and the ways Sam liked to be touched. For the first time, he paid attention to these things and was rewarded by the sounds of pleasure and reactions he was able to draw from Sam. Dragging his teeth across Sam's stomach, he chuckled. "You like this. And this," he added, nipping him, then sucking on the spot to sooth away any pain.

"N-no, I hate...it. Can't...you tell?" Sam stuttered between groans of pleasure. His member throbbed, aching to be touched by those teasing fingers or that mouth that was so close. His lips burned with need as his heart beat hard in his chest. When Dean's mouth returned to his nipple Sam moaned and arched against him. "So good, Dean, so damned good," he panted out, one hand going to Dean's head, lightly holding him there then carding his fingers through the captain's hair. Reaching between them he palmed Dean's cock gently through his pants.

The unexpected slide of Sam's large hand over his already too hard cock had Dean bucking his hips and biting off a moan. Turning his face, he managed to kiss Sam's wrist, pressing his lips against it and tried to maintain control over his lust despite the way Sam was ratcheting it up with every touch of his hand. "Aye... too good," he answered, exhaling and kissing his way up Sam's arm and shoulder, to his throat. "Want to taste you," he whispered, his voice deep and husky. Slanting his mouth across Sam's, he dipped his tongue inside, sweeping it across the roof of Sam's mouth and tangling their tongues. Sam was sweet and potent, like an opiate, and if he wasn't careful, he might become a craving, an obsession. Unsure how he was to fight that possibility and not wanting to think about it, Dean thrust his hand deeper into Sam's trousers, sliding his palm over his heated shaft, and closing his fingers around it. Squeezing lightly, he deepened the kiss and became more aggressive, crushing his mouth against Sam's and battling his tongue.

Groaning deeply into Dean's mouth, Sam could feel his cock leaking as his lover began to stroke him. He returned Dean's aggressive kiss, wanting to devour this pirate who set him aflame like no other. Rubbing along Dean's cock harder, he found Dean was already solid as iron. It sent heat to his own gut, knowing that Dean was already so needy for him. When Dean reached this point he seemed to lose his control and took what he needed. Knowing Dean might well want to turn him and take him against the rail, he loosened Dean's trousers and reached inside, taking hold of Dean's cock and spreading the precum up and down Dean's shaft. It would be hard on him, but he would take it if that's what Dean wanted. Not because Dean was his captor but because he wanted to give it to Dean if that was Dean's desire.

This time, Dean couldn't hold back the needy moan that escaped. "Oh God..." he whispered against Sam's mouth, pulling back and unfastening Sam's trousers and shoving them down part way. Seeing Sam's cock angling up toward his stomach, Dean sucked in his breath. Closing his fist around Sam, he started to stroke, another sound of pleasure breaking from him when Sam moved his hand to the same rhythm. At first he watched their hands, biting his lip at the erotic sight, then he looked up, his gaze locking with Sam's. The heat he saw in the depths of those fathomless dark green eyes was almost his undoing. His heart leapt to his throat, and once more, he found himself confused about his feelings. "I don't..." A muscle throbbed in his jaw, then a shudder passed through him, stealing his words. "Fu... I don't hate you. Not anymore," he admitted. He was quite sure he'd never forgive, but some of his bitterness had melted away between yesterday, and today, when he'd seen Sam interact with his crew without any hint of the arrogance Dean remembered and imagined.

"I'm glad," Sam said as he kissed him lightly. "I am sorry for whatever..." Sam's words faded as they continued to stroke each other and the feelings racing through him muddled his thinking. He finally managed to get his mouth to work again. "I was a jackass in my youth after Miss Sophie...I thought I needed and wanted...to be like... _him._ I've tried...to make amends...as I could." He cupped the side of Dean's face. "I'm sorry for the stupidity and arrogance of my youth, and for the pain it caused you." He still had no idea when they'd met or what he had done to Dean. He wished he could remember so he could make true amends for whatever it was. He leaned in and gave Dean a real kiss then, quickening the long strokes along Dean's cock, groaning into Dean's mouth as Dean did the same.

Spared from answering, Dean kissed him back and started to thrust into Sam's hand. He couldn't help himself, his cock ached and throbbed and the need for relief was strong, intensifying as he became aware of how slick Sam's cock had gotten from the now constant drizzle of precum. Groaning, he used his body to push Sam up harder against the railing, trapping both their cocks between them and getting a little more friction. It wasn't enough, and he was getting more worked up, trying to put it into the kiss but being tortured by thoughts of being inside Sam, penetrating him the way his tongue was doing. He wasn't sure how long this _teasing_ was supposed to go on, but he held on for as long as he could. "I want. Need to be inside you, want to come in you," he said, adding a softer "please," when he realized it had been more command than question.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him hard then, releasing him, and pushed him back. He was happy Dean asked. He saw the heat in Dean's eyes and the pain flicker into them as he thought Sam was refusing him. Turning, Sam bent over and gripped the railing, then looked over his shoulder at Dean and grinned. "I'm not stretched or slick with butter. Go slow until you're in me, until you've stretched me some, okay? If I'm torn, it'll be much harder to have fun again soon." He nodded for Dean to approach him. "I want you in me too," he said, heat in his own eyes. "Put your hand on my cock and stroke me as you push in?" Sam asked, wanting the pleasure to help distract from the pain.

Almost at the end of his rope, Dean gave a curt nod and quickly loosened his trousers and leaned in, biting his lip as his hard cock glided along the cleft of Sam's ass, straining against it. Pure heat inched through his veins, making him want to be inside Sam without anymore preliminaries. He struggled against giving himself the pleasure and it was easy, when he thought of the grin Sam had bestowed on him. _Trust_. Ridiculous as the notion was, it was what he'd seen in Sam's eyes. That, and the desire to give freely. 

Feeling Sam grind back against him, Dean asked through clenched teeth, "What's your rush?" He wasn't sure which of them he was talking to, probably both. To himself, to hold back, and to Sam to stop torturing him and making it impossible. Grinding against him one more time, he pulled away and spit on his fingertips. Pulling Sam's cheek to one side, he started to work his finger inside, slamming against him and grinding his cock against Sam's thigh when he couldn't bear the need for friction. Throwing his head back, eyes closed, he continued to stretch Sam, preparing him as well as he could.

He was sure he hadn't done a proper job of it, but he couldn't wait anymore. Wiping his hand, he aligned his cock and gripped Sam's hip, holding him steady as he leaned in and pressed his chest over Sam's back. Reaching around, he started to stroke Sam's cock, feeling it thicken once again in his hand. Nuzzling the back of Sam's neck, he decided to distract him in more than one way. He gave him a piece of himself, a truth he'd never told anyone. "Never before did I want to do this. I don't mean _this much_. I mean at all," he said. He had started to push in, so it was difficult for him to talk, but he forced himself to. "It was always a chore. Something to get over as soon as I could. I much preferred my own hand. Even then..."

"I could tell you were taken advantage of," Sam said softly, groaning a bit as Dean pushed in. He had been surprised Dean had made any effort to stretch him at all but it had definitely helped. "The way you looked at my cock after...I gave you...the blow job. I'm glad you've made some peace within you, I'm glad I could give you that." Sam moaned as Dean's cock penetrated the tight ring of muscle. He was glad Dean stopped, giving his body a chance to adjust. He let go of the rail with one hand and reached overhead to touch Dean's hair. "I didn't think anyone could make me feel as Gabriel did. But you do. Maybe even more so. There's something about you, in your eyes. I feel...safe. Isn't that odd?" he asked. Turning his head for a kiss he whispered. "I'm okay. You can keep going now."

Dean had stopped pushing in mostly because he'd been startled by Sam's conclusion that he'd had bad experiences. He wasn't entirely pleased at how perceptive Sam was about these things. Really, it wasn't something he'd wanted Sam to know. That was the danger of sharing a part of yourself, it never ended there. Some people saw more than you wanted them to. And when it was the person you held responsible, then it made the whole damned thing that much more complicated. "Yes, you're very odd." He brushed Sam's lips, "You're supposed to fear the Pirate King. Fear me," he said, crushing his mouth over Sam's and thrusting his hips, banishing unwanted memories of soothing his younger brother in his cradle and promising to keep him safe. That was another life. This was reality.

Sam smiled against Dean's lips even as he hungrily kissed him. Did he fear Dean? A part of him did, knowing what the Pirate King was capable of, but another part didn't, seeing that there was gentleness in the man, but most of him just burned for his touch.

"Fuck... so tight... so damned tight," Dean groaned, burying himself completely inside Sam, his hips now pressed flat against his firm ass. He might have been successful in his attempt to give Sam time, but Sam clenched his muscles tight around him, and it was too much. Dean had waited too long, needed too much. "Ngh..." Gripping Sam's hip even tighter, he pulled him back further from the railing, using the weight of his own body to push Sam down to the angle he needed, and started to fuck him slow, but hard. His hand glided up and down Sam's hard cock, now dripping the way he had to be dripping inside Sam. "Yeah...oh yeah..." Sounds started to break from him as he moved faster, his thrusts deeper, waves of pleasure and pain crashing over him as the need to reach completion started to rise within him like a tide.

It took a good deal of Sam's strength not to end up with his head banging into the rail. The music was still playing below, and the ocean spread out before him. He groaned in response to Dean's thrusts, enjoying them while at the same time, his back ached, and his ass ached. The first night Dean had taken Sam there had been some damage done. He shifted himself a little and the next time Dean pistoned in, his cock rubbed over Sam's spot of pleasure, making him shudder and moan and clench around Dean. "More," Sam begged, bracing himself. The way Dean was stroking his cock had his knees practically weak to begin with. "S'good, good," Sam murmured, his eyes closing as he focused on feeling only Dean.

Dean's skin was tight and sensitive, every square inch of it covered in sweat, sliding and sticking to Sam depending on how far he leaned. Sam's demand sent incredible heat to the pit of his stomach, making it impossible for him to keep the controlled, measured rhythm he'd set. Cursing up a storm, he pulled almost all the way out and drove himself back inside, blinding heat causing him to curse again. He moved his hand off Sam's hip in an effort to force himself to be gentle and to touch every inch of Sam's sculpted body, but it was impossible. All he could hear in his mind was _More. More. More._ Or maybe it was _Sam_ , he really wasn't aware anymore. Gripping Sam's hip again, he started to pound into him, harder and harder, sometimes lifting Sam slightly off the deck. He was a man consumed by fire, by how Sam felt around him, squeezing him, how he felt in his hand, how Sam writhed and pushed back against him. 

"Oh God." Dean's grunts punctuated each thrust of his hips as he pumped his cock in and out of Sam in uncontrolled motions. He was like a man on fire. A man possessed. He couldn't see the beginning or the end. Pistoning himself deeper and deeper, he lost all restraint. "So tight so... good. I... fuck," he pulled his hand to the base of Sam's cock and squeezed his balls. "Come with me," he demanded, "now... now." He bit his lip and threw his head back, driving inside Sam, giving a guttural moan and exploding. He was still riding the intense waves of his release when he leaned in and bit Sam's shoulder lightly, grinding against him no less roughly than when he'd been fucking him. 

Sam hadn't expected the sudden pressure on his already heavy and tight balls and when he felt the warmth fill him as Dean begged him, his body responded to Dean's demands. A fountain of cum sprayed across the deck and over the side, falling into the water below. "Dean!" Sam cried out as the orgasm shook him. He felt the bite to his shoulder and moaned, grinding back against Dean as furiously as Dean still did to him.

Sliding his now slightly wet hand over Sam's stomach and wrapping his other arm around so his hand was pressing against Sam's chest, Dean continued rocking into Sam. The way Sam writhed against him, the way he continued to milk him, had Dean shuddering once more with pleasure. "You were right. It was worth the wait," he said, skimming his mouth along Sam's throat. "Kiss me."

"I don't know, I'm suppose to fear you," Sam said with a smirk, then turned his head and captured Dean's lips and kissed him hard. He clenched around Dean rhythmically, to see if he could bring the Pirate King hard again before he ever pulled out.

"Mmm." As Sam ravaged his mouth and squeezed him, Dean felt his cock twitch and pulse. Moaning into Sam's mouth, he started to fuck him again lightly but in quick shallow strokes, racing towards a second release. When it came, he pulled Sam up hard against him, his roughly trimmed nails digging into Sam's flesh. His mouth slipped away from Sam's, his hot breaths fanning Sam's throat as he tried to bring his body under control. "You never cease to surprise me," he said. "Did I tell you how much I hate surprises?" It was both true, and false. Pulling out, he turned Sam around and closed his arms around him, kissing him slowly and very thoroughly. 

Sam kissed Dean back intensely. "Then we're in trouble, because I'm full of surprises," Sam teased and then yawned. Running his hands under Dean's shirt he caressed his chest. "Mmm what say we retreat to your quarters, Captain? We could make some nice slow loving or sleep and I can rouse you with a good morning surprise when the sun graces the day once again. This would be a surprise I'm sure you'd like."

"After you." He waited until Sam passed him, then slapped him lightly on the ass, chuckling at the startled look he got. Following hard on his heels, Dean entered his quarters and immediately started stripping his clothes off. "This was a good end to a good day," he said, dropping down onto the bed to pull his boots off. "I don't think any of us believed you'd keep up with me, dancing," he added. "It seems you have a lot of hidden skills."


	7. Chapter 7

"I like dancing. Any type. I got the most practice with heart thumping dances in the tavern with Gabriel. The fancy gentry dances, those are elegant but not as much fun as stomping about and working up a proper sweat," Sam said as he stripped, using some damp rags to wipe himself clean of Dean's seed. He had dozed a good part of the day, his body trying to heal and he felt sleep had done him good. Even so, with all the helping of the crew and the dancing and then the sex, he was tired. He smiled to himself, thinking how nice it would be to curl up with Dean and sleep the night through. "As for hidden skills, I'm sure I'd amaze you. I can teach a person to read and write. I can dance. I can be something of a doctor, and I'll wager that guinea of mine that I could muck a stable faster than any man on board." He climbed onto the bed, sliding behind Dean. "I'm also quite skilled at loosening a man's muscles after a hard day's work." He began digging his fingers into the muscles of Dean's bare shoulders.

The instant Sam came up behind him, Dean tensed and only just prevented himself from turning around and shoving or wrestling Sam away. Taking a deep breath, he listened to the words Sam was speaking and allowed himself to process that what he was feeling was pleasure. Still, he swallowed and looked down at the floor for a moment, centering himself. This was a different place, a different time. He was in charge here and no one could take advantage of him. This was... His head lifted and looked over at Sam. Was this affection? His mother used to rub his back when he couldn't get to sleep, he remembered that well. "Aye, it seems you are," he said, not completely relaxed but starting to enjoy the massage. "It seems you enjoy tensing me up, then easing my tension. I'm learning your patterns." 

Sam had noticed Dean tense suddenly but chose to ignore it. If Dean was that uncomfortable, he'd surely make Sam stop or move. So Sam continued to work on Dean's muscles, long used to loosening Gabriel's muscles after a hard day in the stables. "I don't mean to make you tense," Sam said. "But yes, I think you are right. I'm quite skilled at working you up in one fashion or another. Right now, I intend only to massage your muscles until nary a knot can be found. Then, I expect you to curl up with me and sleep a sound sleep with me in your arms all night long with only the best of dreams for the both of us."

"It's a fine line between this and working me up." Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back as Sam slid his hands down his sides and then pressed his thumbs on either side of his spine and worked his way back up. "Be careful not to cheat yourself out of being able to curl up like a ... a kitten." He chuckled at the thought of this large man being compared to a small feline, and yet, Sam's description of what he wanted to do certainly made Dean think of kittens or pups. "Or maybe I'll have to see how well you purr. Mmm, that's good."

Sam gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, indeed it is a fine line. It would take little to reach around and rub more interesting areas, or to give you featherlight kisses at your temple. But I am well sated, as you should be, and the thought of sleeping with you like a...a kitten is much closer to my intent. But anytime you wish to try to make me purrrrr," Sam rolled his 'r' to make something of a purring sound, "be my guest, your majesty." Sam made sure to hunt for knots in Dean's muscles and work them out, his strong hands making short work of them. He wouldn't be surprised if he managed to make Dean fall asleep in his arms.

"You're getting me tense again with this talk." Reaching behind him, Dean cupped the back of Sam's head, pulling him closer and kissing him as well as he could from that position. When he broke the kiss, he shifted and bodily nudged Sam to move up on the bed. A moment later, they were laying adjacent to each other with Dean a little unsure of how Sam wanted to be curled up. Still, he put his arm out over Sam's head and around his shoulder, inviting him to move closer and rest his head on his chest.

Laying his head on Dean's chest, Sam listened to his slow steady heartbeat. "Your heart sounds...content," Sam said, running his fingers lightly over Dean's bare stomach. "It was a very good day wasn't it?" Giving a content sigh, Sam shut his eyes. In less than a week this would all be a dream. Even if it had started out nightmarish, it had changed. He wished the change in the Pirate King was real, was permanent, but he knew very well if he stepped out of line too far, he could easily be on the wrong end of the whip again. He much preferred this man who was holding him now to the man he first met. "Good night, Lover," Sam said softly and settled in to sleep and maybe dream of more days like this. 

He'd though for a moment that Sam said brother, and it jolted his heart. But once he realized his mistake, Dean merely closed his arm around Sam and tried not to think too much. There were too many layers of complications. Too many hurts that had been inflicted, too many betrayals between them. They'd made peace of a sort but even that was like a gordion knot. Was the affection Sam was showering on him real? More likely he was just coping with loneness and fear, making the best out of it and creating a dream to tide him over until he was freed. Would he even carry on with this... what they had between them, if he knew the truth about being brothers? Sam had suspected a familial relationship but Dean wasn't sure that Sam thought of it as a real possibility. There was no way this story could end well. It had started bad, right from the day Sam had been born. Remembering the happiness in his sick mother's eyes as she looked at baby Samuel, Dean completely slammed his mind shut. Good dreams, it's what he wanted. The only thing he wanted.

* * *

It was early, maybe pre-dawn. Dean woke up feeling like he was in a safe, warm cocoon. With each breath, he drew in Sam's scent, now familiar and associated with good feelings. He liked having Sam's weight on him, anchoring him somehow. It might be fanciful to think that Sam had prevented bad dreams, but he was in a fanciful mood. 

Recalling Sam's threat to wake him up in a special way and knowing what Sam meant, Dean wondered if he could give that to Sam. Making him purr was a fine thought. Slowly, he rolled Sam off him, waited a moment, then pulled the bed clothes down. Like himself, Sam had some loose trousers on. Dean's gaze went back to Sam's face, so peaceful in sleep, and yet his mouth still quirked at the corners as if he were ready to smile. Maybe if he read Dean's mind, he would smile.

Dipping his head, Dean kissed Sam lightly on the lips and started to work his way down his body. He nuzzled his throat, then ghosted his mouth over his chest and abs, lingering sometimes in one place for awhile. This he enjoyed, touching and exploring Sam's body, watching or feeling Sam tense or make a soft sound in response. But when he reached the waistband of his trousers, Dean was suddenly a lot less sure.

Very slowly, he pulled the pants down. Sam's cock was semi hard, it wouldn't take much to make him want as badly as he'd wanted last night. Dean touched and played with him using his hand, loving how he could feel Sam thicken and lengthen in his palm. Taking a deep breath, he went down, kissing Sam's hip bone and the valley next to it as he talked himself into doing this.

Lifting his head a little, he stared at Sam's crown peeping out above his closed fist. Swallowing hard, he licked Sam's tip once, again, and yet again. Encouraged, he pushed his hand lower down Sam's cock, revealing more of it. Mouth open, he lowered his head once again, this time wrapping his lips around Sam's crown and sucking softly. He swirled his tongue around and thought he could take more. Thought he could keep the memories trying to crowd his mind away. Maybe with Sam, maybe...

"Open your mouth wider you little bastard, open it!"

The loud crack was the stinging slap he'd received. It did no good, Dean couldn't open his mouth wider, it wasn't possible. His hands closed around the dirty bed sheets. His eyes rolled back as the man straddling his face kept ramming his cock into his mouth. He was choking, each time the man slammed his hips forward, Dean struggled to breathe. Be done. Just get done. Get done. Get done. Get done.

"Stop being coy. Take it. Take it. Arghhh... suck on it..." 

Dean couldn't get off the bed quick enough. Without bothering to get a shirt, he walked around the screen and got out of the room. He went to stand at the railing and took in deep gulps of air, trying to counteract the feeling of choking, of not being able to breath. As he almost sightlessly eyed the gray waters, he remembered wanting to die. Remembered knowing in his heart that death was better than the sentence life had imposed on him. Only one thing had saved him. Hate. What would he do if he lost that?

***

The dream was good, very, very good. He dreamed of Gabriel and the pond that they'd ride out to. They'd let the horses cool down while they made themselves busy on the edge of the pond or, in the hot summer heat, in the water. Sam was lying on shore and Gabriel was between his legs, leaning over him, caressing his muscles, kissing him, and working down lower and lower. He groaned softly when he felt Gabriel's hand encase his cock. Soon enough he watched Gabriel lean down and begin to suck him into his mouth. Gabriel suddenly pulled off and grinned at him, his jade colored eyes alight with life, but then that light faded and Gabriel turned to smoke, his form lost in the fog that was creeping around him. 

Sam was hard and needy when he opened his eyes. Dean was not in bed and his cock was half out of his trousers, red and swollen and ready for attention. He cursed under his breath and limped over to the chamberpot, quickly jerking himself off. He was startled when he recalled the dream. Gabriel had brown eyes...and suddenly it was jade eyes he was seeing as his seed spilled out of him.

"No, no, no," Sam berated himself. "Don't you be a fool, Samuel. Don't you dare be a damned fool." He was fairly certain Dean had tried to bring him off and the trauma he had suffered in his youth must have reared its head. He had tried though, and that did warm Sam's heart a bit, even as he scolded himself for the feelings beginning to blossom in his chest. He was ransom. He was a captive. His fate was already decided. Almost angrily he sponged himself off with the water in the basin and dressed. 

Seeing Dean's coat and hat right where Dean had left them the night before, he gathered them up and stepped out in the twilight of the morning. Looking around he quickly spotted the captain dressed only in his sleeping pants. He walked up next to him and held out the coat and hat. "It's chilly this morn. You should at least have a coat. Would you like for me to get you your boots as well?" 

"Go back to bed." Dean ran a hand down his face and didn't turn to look at Sam.

The voice sounded both strained and just a little like his father's when his father snapped an order at him. Swallowing hard, he draped the coat over Dean's shoulders. "I'll be in your quarters straightening up or playing cards or something," Sam replied quietly. "Please let me know when I'm free to walk the deck." He turned and headed back towards Dean's quarters, the hat gripped tightly in his hand. 

Dean flinched but didn't unbend. It was for the best. He wasn't in the mood to talk or be touched or even to be comforted. He was feeling dangerous and the last person who ought to be around him at a moment like this was his brother.

Walking into the quarters Sam looked around. It was something of a mess. He knew Alfred would probably soon make an appearance, but he needed something to do so he began to straighten things up. Sure enough, not ten minutes later Alfred appeared with a tray of fruit, cheese, bread, some salted pork, and watered wine. 

"He's in a mood, Alfred. Best watch your step with him this morning. Even I'm trying not to annoy him. When the doctor rises, would you ask him to come check my back and see if it needs anything on it. Could you bring a small bit of extra water as well? The captain and I worked up a sweat dancing last night and I'd like to rinse out our shirts."

Alfred raised an eyebrow but nodded and began tending to the chamberpot and left to bring fresh water for the wash basin. When he returned with the water, the two worked in tandem cleaning the captain's quarters. Sam left the scrubbing of the deck to the boy while he dusted and used the extra bit of water to wash out their shirts and undergarments.

*

Dean wasn't sure if he'd stood there for a half hour or an hour, but the fog had started to clear when the look-out shouted a warning. Jamming his hand into the pocket of his coat, Dean pulled out his spyglass and searched the waters in the direction the man had indicated. After a few moments, he saw the single deck frigate in the distance and called down an order. "Put up French colors and undertake evasive maneuvers." The frigate probably had less than twenty guns, which was something. Maybe there wouldn't be a confrontation, but lately the Royal Navy seemed to have orders to investigate all ships and demand merchant papers. 

"Captain--"

"I heard," Dean answered Rufus who'd come up the stairs looking as if he'd just been awakened. "I'll be on deck in a moment." Exchanging a nod, he hurried to his quarters.

Sam and Alfred had both heard the warning. "He's in his sleeping trousers. He needs clothes, and he hasn't eaten," Sam told Alfred. Alfred hurried to get the captain's clothes laid out and this time, when Sam asked Alfred for his knife, Alfred didn't hesitate and merely handed it to him. After wiping the knife clean, Sam cut the bread in half, then sliced one piece partway through. He quickly cut off a piece of pork and shredded it, then cut up the cheese and apples into smaller pieces. He stuffed the meat, cheese and apples down into the pocket he'd made in the bread and poured a cup of watered wine.

The door opened and Sam moved forward toward the captain. While Alfred helped Dean into his shirt, Sam pulled down Dean's sleeping pants and offered his shoulder for Dean to steady himself while he stepped out of them. He grabbed the pants Alfred had laid out and held them for Dean to step into. As soon as he'd gotten them mostly up for Dean, he turned to the table where the food was and grabbed the sandwich he'd made. He held the sandwich and goblet of wine until the captain had shrugged into his coat. "Here, you need to eat." He thrust the sandwich into the captain's hands and guided him to a chair so Alfred could get Dean's boots on him. He set the cup on the table in front of Dean then grabbed Dean's hat and put it on him, adjusting it a bit. "Who is it, the enemy ship?" Sam asked.

Dean was accustomed to being aided by Alfred, but this was definitely different. Particularly being told to eat... he'd go so far as to say ordered. "My cutlass," he said, pointing to the shelf as he spoke around a mouthful of his breakfast and pushed his foot down to get the boot on. "Royal Navy. It may be nothing, but if they bear down on us, they will have a fight on their hands," he promised, lifting his other foot for Alfred.

Sam retrieved the cutlass from the shelf and brought it over, setting it on the table, running his fingers along the fine scabbard. "You could probably use me for barter. Chain me on the deck where they could see me and they might hold off attacking. Or trade for me. Depends if they consider you a bigger catch than rescuing the son of the governor, which well they might. I could put on brown trousers. Maybe they know the joke." Sam gave Dean a weak smile. If there was a battle, it was possible the ships would end up side by side, ropes or planks leading from one ship to the other. It was a possibility of escape for Sam, unless the captain sank the enemy ship. Sam moved the cup of wine closer to Dean, then snagged a piece of apple from the tray. He was pretty hungry which is why he knew Dean had to be as well. "Alfred, don't forget your dagger," Sam said when the boy straightened after getting Dean's boots on him.

Laughing at Sam's joke, Dean drained the mug and got up. Fixing his belt, he sheathed the cutlass as he spoke. "If you were tied on deck, it would only confirm we're not a merchant ship. However, if we are boarded, put yourself into the shackles," he nodded toward the chains and cuffs that were still suspended from the wall, though they were blocked from view by the screen. "Alfred..."

"I have them," the cabin boy answered, opening a box that held two flintlock pistols and a bag of balls and black powder.

Dean took the one Alfred had loaded and dropped it into his pocket.

Taking the knife and the spare pistol, Alfred scrambled out of the room, prepared to be at the captain's side to reload should it become necessary. 

"It's safer in here," Dean said pointedly to Sam. "If you're seen on deck, best you not be carrying any weapons or be seen helping." 

"Why do you think I won't try to escape? Try to make it to the other ship if they come alongside?" Sam asked.

"Samuel..." Dean's tone held a warning, as did the look he gave him.

Sam didn't answer, just simply sat down at the table and shook his head a little. He'd told Dean he made no promises he wouldn't try to escape, but escaping onto a ship of the Royal Navy wasn't really what he had in mind. They would return him to his father and that he would prefer to avoid. He stared at the food on the table and heard the door shut. With a sigh, he poured himself some wine and began eating.

*

After making two course changes and seeing the HMS Godspeed parallel the changes to ensure their paths would cross, Dean and every man and woman aboard knew they were in for a fight unless they allowed the officers of the other ship to board and search. Since they had booty in the hull and a captive, there was no way they could allow that to happen, not unless they were prepared to meet the gallows. Aye, Dean wasn't prepared to dance with Jack Ketch just yet.

He and Rufus strode away from the helm and stood mid deck as they started calling orders. 

"Man the guns! Let out more sails!"

The crew scrambled to follow orders. Some climbing the mast and either acting as look-outs or waiting for further orders to aid in turning the ship quickly, especially should the rope controls for the sails fail or be damaged, or should they have to lash beams together.

"Clear the decks."

Flammable items were taken below and barrels of water were brought up, with buckets to stand at the ready should there be fires.

"Rufus, have two guns moved stern side," Dean said. "They want a broadside fight, we'll give it to them. Then we'll run a rig," he grinned, having watched the ship's progress and decided its Captain was a 'by the book' player with no imagination.

"That one won't be expecting the surprise," Rufus agreed with a nod of approval. They'd made this play before and had seen success. Unless the winds changed. He clapped Dean on the shoulder and then moved forward on the deck, standing behind those loading the canons. "Take down the French colors," he shouted.

The jolly roger was hoisted in its place and received a rousing cheer from the crew. Still, the naval ship did not deviate from its course, other than to begin turning to show its broadside.

"Range four hundred yards."

"Three hundred fifty."

"Three hundred."

At this distance, they could see the men on the other ship. The watched as the ships guns were pulled back.

"Hold," Dean shouted to his own men, even as the cannons from the other ship belched black smoke into the air and heavy balls splashed the ocean around them and timber flew from the bulwark. Men scrambled to put out the fire.

"Range two hundred fifty." 

"Helmsman, bring her over three points starboard," Dean shouted, his order passed along by others repeating them. The ship lurched. "Stand by to fire!"

The other ship was likely to be almost done reloading her guns.

"Two hundred."

"Odd guns only. Fire!" Dean shouted, allowing a few minutes to pass. "Even guns stand at the ready." He ticked off the seconds, then shouted again, "Fire!"

The other ship had not been prepared for a second volley, of that he was sure. They traded cannon fire and this time more marks were hit on both ships. Shouts of pain, curses and encouraging cries could be heard as the guns were reloaded. A pirate was knocked overboard and a small boat was cut loose in the event he could make it to the boat. 

Sam heard the cannon fire and felt the Vengeance shudder. He recalled the sounds from just a few days ago, when the Pirate King had attacked the ship he had been on. He couldn't just sit in the captain's quarters. He wanted to watch. He wanted to have an idea of what his fate was going to be. Cautiously he slipped out onto the upper deck and went to the railing, bracing himself firmly, having finally gained something of his sea legs. He watched the ship in the distance grow closer, guns firing, and listened as Dean snapped out orders and Rufus echoed them to make certain the crew heard them over the noise. He moved toward the stairs so he could see the Pirate King in all his glory: calm, cool and ready. Sam squatted down low to the deck as he heard the sound of incoming fire. The ship lurched as the first mate spun the wheel but a few cannon balls still hit the ship. One of the crew fell from his perch and the doctor rushed over to him. "Broken leg!" he heard the doctor yell and start to pull the man into a more protected area and out of the way of the crew.

That was when it happened.

The doctor took a cannon ball in the center of his back and collapsed like a marionette whose strings had broken. Sam dashed down the stairs and to the man's side. "Doc!" he shouted at him, touching his shoulder but he could see right away the man was dead. His jaw tightened and he finished the job the doctor had started and pulled the crewman to safety. Grabbing the doctor's satchel, he splinted the man's leg. He heard other calls for the doctor and ran to each call for aid, simply telling the crew he was helping the doctor like before.

Shouts of "fire!" were followed by groups of crew members beating out the flames with thick blankets or dousing them with water. A large fire, or one near the powder would be deadly. Blood covered parts of the deck and made it slippery until those with minor tasks ran to swab it clean. Smoke billowed around them, making it more difficult to see. Through it all, the crew of the Vengeance could hear calls to surrender and even suggestions that only the captain and ranking officers of the pirate ship would be punished. Many of the Vengeance's crew members had escaped from being impressed into the navy and knew their lives would be miserable even if they were spared and would not consider it. They would fight on and put their trust into each other.

"Stand by," Dean called out, his eyes narrowing as the gap between the two ships closed. He motioned for men to move nearer the railing in case of an attempt to board. Leaning down, he spoke to Alfred, "Tell the helmsmen to bring her around as hard as he can on my mark." He watched the lad and made sure he made it, before giving the order to fire again and stepping up on a crate to stare the captain of the other ship in the eyes. "Mark!" he shouted, knowing the other ship could hear his order but would not know what it meant.

"All hands secure yourselves!" Rufus yelled as the ship suddenly lurched. Ropes were pulled and tightened, moving the sails, and the Vengeance seemed to make an impossibly tight turn, pulling away from the Godspeed and moving into position so they were stern to port. 

"Stand by," Dean called out in a lower voice than usual.

Rufus ran to the two guns that the Godspeed would not expect. Using his spyglass, he gave orders to re-calibrate the canons, then raised his arm, cutlass in hand, for the Captain to see through the smoke.

"Fire. Fire!" Dean shouted, running toward the stern to see what the damage was to the other ship, hoping their shots had been true.

The Godspeed shuddered. The sound of timber creaking was carried by the wind to the Vengeance. Dean leaned against the railing, a dangerous position but he wanted to see and was hoping with every fiber of his being. The mast of the other ship started to bend, and there was a loud shout of victory from the crew of the Vengeance which were very much at odds with the screams coming from the other ship. The mast fell and started to slide into the water, causing the Godspeed to list to one side.

"Steady as she goes, let's not show them our broadside again." Amid calls of "We've done it, Captain," and happy slaps to his back, Dean finally grinned and demonstrated his own gladness. Handing his weapons, coat and hat to his cabin boy to return to his quarters, he told Alfred to let Sam know it was safe to come out now. Then he went to help put out one of the nearby fires. "Come on lads, put your backs into it, let's not have us a Pyrrhic victory."

"The Captain an' 'is fancy words," someone shouted, earning some good natured laughs at the captain's expense. 

When Rufus called out that they were completely beyond cannon range, there was another shout from the men. He then walked the deck, assessing the damage to life and property.

For Sam the battle had faded into the background as he worked on the injured, rearing its head when he took some splintered wood in his arm and a few hot ashes on his back. Aside from the doctor, three other crew had died. One crew had lost his hand when it got caught in rope and more or less was neatly sliced off. Sam had put on a tourniquet then used one of the nearby fires to cauterize it. He knew he would likely have to go in and cut away the flesh and sew it up proper, but he didn't have time at the moment. Minimal injuries he treated by tying on bandages and simply moving on to the next. All said and done there was one bad concussion, a broken leg, some moderate to severe lacerations, some burns, some broken fingers and toes, a dislocated shoulder, and some large wooden splinters impaling a few of the crew. Once everyone had some sort of treatment, Sam started over at the beginning, giving each member the attention they needed, pulling out the rum and the scalpels, needle and thread, and a small pot filled with hot embers and a small piece of heated iron for cauterizing internal injuries.

Speaking to the carpenter about how long repairs would take and whether others should be hired when they entered port hopefully on the morrow, Rufus watch Samuel dashing around and taking care of the wounded who were lined up on the deck. He noticed some of them were being taken below deck and that there was no sign of Doc. Frowning, he walked away before their conversation ended, and then stood over Sam who was tending to one of the women. "Where's doc?" he asked, getting a bad feeling.

Samuel glanced up at Rufus then looked over to the dead crew covered by canvas and shook his head. "He didn't...a cannonball...I don't think he suffered," Sam said and turned back to the woman he was tending. "You'll need a new doctor for the ship. I'll do everything I can until you get one. I need access to the infirmary and any books on medical procedures. This bag is pretty much out of supplies and as you can see, I'm not out of patients."

Rufus let out a heavy sigh and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "He was a good man."

"He always did say he wanted to go out in battle," Anne said, her voice a little husky but her expression, while subdued, revealed no other emotions. "Thank you," she said to Sam, getting up when he'd tied off the bandage around her arm. "I'll be getting back to me duties."

After waiting a moment, Rufus spoke again. "Thank you, for all this." He waved toward the wounded. "Most in your position would have damned them all to hell. You'll be given access to the infirmary immediately. I will talk to the Captain and the men about paying for your services. We run a fair ship."

"Most in my position would have probably still been in shackles," Sam said giving a slight smirk, but then sobered. "People come first. Station or profession, that's secondary. But admittedly, I am going to be put out if my father fails to pay the ransom and you end up feeding me to the fish." Sam shook his head. "You don't have to pay me. Give it to the families of the men killed. But money will be needed to restock the doctor's supplies, so keep aside some for that I guess."

"We'll find out your father's intent when we dock tomorrow. Our man should be back with his answer and to confirm the rendezvous. I, for one, would not want to see you end up as food for the creatures of the sea. Maybe..." Thinking better of giving the young man hope in a matter that held emotional power over the captain, Rufus trailed off. "Carry on." Nodding, he headed to the bodies, his head bowed slightly as he wondered who else might have crossed to the other side.

Sam gave a curt nod and moved to the next person waiting for his services. Even in just the one day he had helped the doctor, he had learned a lot. His stitches weren't as neat perhaps but he had a lot less fear treating the crew, having seen the doctor in action. The people remaining in line all fell into the category of minor injuries. Some stitches and bandages, one with a broken finger. He glanced up when he felt eyes on him and saw the captain watching him.

Dean didn't look away. Instead, he tried to process how it was that seeing Sam pulling his weight and acting like a crewman seemed so natural. It wasn't natural Goddammit, it just wasn't. How could a wealthy and titled man take to this life so quickly. As if in answer to his silent question, Alfred appeared at Sam's elbow and had Dean shaking his head. A hand tapping him on the shoulder drew his attention away and he went about his own business. And yet, he was always aware of where Samuel was, how he was progressing with the wounded, and how tirelessly he seemed to work. 

As the tasks that required immediate attention wound down, barrels of wine and ale and bottles of rum were brought out onto the deck. Cook had promised a feast of meats especially since they would be in port soon and could replenish. Musicians brought their instruments out, preparing to once more make merry. 

One last order of business remained before the music would kick off. The crew gathered around the ship's officers. The bodies of the four dead men, now sewn into sacks, were laid out on the deck. As Rufus read from the bible, Dean saw that Samuel joined the ranks of the others and had his head bowed as well. When Rufus was done, Dean spoke a few words about the service and loyalty of those whose lives were lost. He managed to make a few jokes about them, observations that only someone who'd paid attention to them could make. Then a few people added their own farewells, and the bodies were hoisted overboard. 

Dean confirmed that the men's families would be given a share of the current booty that was aboard as well as an amount that would allow them to live comfortably without the income from the lost men. There would also be a collection, in the event any of the crew wanted to give more from their own shares.

The group quickly broke up, and within minutes, there was music and glasses were often raised in memory of the lost pirates.

Sam settled down, using some rope coils as a seat, and watched the crew celebrate their survival and give the lost crew a proper wake, even if the bodies had already been given to the sea. He had said a few soft words as Doc was sent overboard, thanking him for teaching him what he had in those few hours he'd assisted him and hoping he had done some measure of justice to the man's memory. When a few of the crew tried to coax him to dance Sam shook his head. He was tired and he had a few crew in the infirmary that he would need to check on during the night. He'd had to perform surgery on two of them and...well...he'd never done surgery before and was worried he might have done something wrong or that their wounds would get infected and he just knew he couldn't sleep through the night without checking on them. He kept his drinking to a minimum because he wanted to make certain he kept his wits about him. 

The food was brought out and everyone ate and drank heartily. Dean ate with the Quartermaster and First Mate but kept tabs on Sam. When he noticed Clancy sidling toward Sam, he wiped his plate clean using a piece of bread then set it down. Taking his glass of wine with him, he wove through the men and women, waving off those who wanted him to join in the dancing merriment, and came to lean against a barrel next to Sam. Very deliberately, he put his hand on Sam's shoulder, then moved it to the back of his neck, massaging lightly as he stared Clancy down and spoke very low. "Seems you weren't in need of brown pants after all."

Sam gave a slight smile. He saw Dean was plainly making certain it was clear he was still the captain's. "Sometimes it was kind of iffy. Especially when I saw Doc go down. And then some of the injuries. I feel out of my depth but I did the best I could. You were amazing, by the way. I wish I had felt half as calm as you looked. I understand the joke a little better now, I appreciate it a lot more." He reached up and took hold of Dean's hand giving it a squeeze. "I heard we'll be in port tomorrow. I'll make up a list of everything I used or items the infirmary is out of. I'm not quite as good as Doc was at minimizing supply usage. I might have gone overboard on a few things but better too much than not enough." 

"You looked just as calm," Dean answered. He hadn't seen Samuel in action during the battle, but he could judge by what he'd seen after. Bringing Sam's hand to his mouth, he kissed it lightly. "I'm surprised Alfred isn't plying you with wine. I'm starting to think he believes he's your cabin boy now." Where once his tone might have been hard, there was a clear lightness to it now and his eyes sparkled, reflecting his good humor.

"I didn't feel calm," Sam said then shook his head. "No, Alfred's your cabin boy, believe me. And everyone is trying to get me to drink, but I have patients I need to check on tonight. I'm not a real doctor. I've never done any surgeries before today. Broken bones, cuts, extracting wood, that's not that hard but I've never had to...I just want to make certain they're okay. The port we're going to, is it a pirate port of call? Not a place gentry or the royal navy or anyone would go to? I'd...I'd like to see it. To walk around it, if it is. You can keep me shackled and with guards. I just want to see what it's like, what the people are like. And I do have a guinea to spend on something." He grinned. "I could buy you a parrot, maybe."

"You think I need to add color to my wardrobe?" Dean drawled.

Chuckling, Sam shook his head. "You look formidable in black, but I figured you'd prefer a parrot to getting your eye poked out. Though I'm sure eye-patches would be cheaper than parrots."

Dean joined in the chuckling, shaking his head at the notion he needed to look more like a pirate. "When I'm trying to look formidable, the black kohl comes out."

"Better that than white powder wigs," Sam said with a snort of laughter.

"Well we have to be able to tell ourselves apart," Dean answered. "About leaving the ship. I'll consider it." Dean didn't intend to be rushed into any decisions and Sam's admission that he would run if he could was at the forefront of his mind. Still, a boon was in order for the service he'd provided to Dean's shipmates this day.

"You could always come with me and give me a proper tour," Sam suggested. "You don't take your eyes off me long enough for me to get into trouble." 

"Huh?" Cocking his head, Dean looked at Sam, then look down and gave a sheepish chuckle. "Maybe it's because I know you're a master of trickery."

Sam broke out in laughter. "I have never been accused of that before. Sneaky? Sometimes, but I'm no master of trickery. If I were, I'd have been smart enough to get you distracted before I picked the locks of my shackles and went for a swim." 

"Sam, the fact that you know how to pick locks? That's evidence of mastery at trickery," Dean said, pointing at Sam with the glass in his hand, before taking a long drink. "You want to walk?" The music and dancing was getting louder and wilder.

Sam felt a blush crawl up his face. "Picking locks is useful when your father locks up all the good wine and food. Sure." It took Sam a couple tries to actually get out of his seat of the coils of rope. Not because he was drunk, but just because they slipped and slid as he tried to get the leverage to pull himself to his feet. He accepted a refill of his glass once he was finally standing. "So where are we walking to?" 

Dean put his hand lightly behind Sam's back and drew him away from the revelers. He lead him all the way to the end of the ship where the rowing boats were stored, some of them set vertically to save space. He found the one he wanted and handing Sam his glass, undid the rope bindings, grimaced at the weight of the boat but managed to place it just right so that there was a view of the waters if one sat in it and unlaced its cover. "We took this off the hands of some ship in the Caribbean," he said as he pulled the cover from it. "Must have been meant for a Sultan." Stepping into the boat that had plush velvet covered seating, he sat down and leaned against the backrest and made room for Sam next to him, though it would be more comfortable if Sam sat on the opposite end, or the center benches meant for the rowers.

Gaping at the luxurious boat it took a moment before Sam handed in the glasses then slid in next to Dean and looked out over the ocean. "The first couple times I got to sail to England I was excited to be on the sea, looking forward to seeing our homeland. As I got older, the magic faded, having to deal with a grumpy father who tends to get seasick, or the watchful eyes of my chaperones. Sitting here, looking out," he glanced at Dean, "some of that magic is back." 

Rubbing his chin, Dean wondered which of the two of them was the insane one. He'd never dream that a captive would find magic on a ship, yet Sam was earnest. "My first years were not magical, but there was always the dream of finding a better place. A pirate ship attacked the one I was working on or... it was more like slavery. So many of us jumped ship, decided to join the pirates," he shook his head. "But aye, the sea is full of magic." 

"What sort of magic have you found?" Sam asked. The sea was quiet and the bright stars above were blurry chips of light in the vast water before them. Sam couldn't help but admire the beautiful scene.

"Well... there was this time when we pulled this beautiful Siren aboard. She had golden hair and a voice..." As he spun a few tales of magic, the sort that had caused many a lad to run for the seas, he put his arm over Sam's shoulder and played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

Sam listened to the tales, laughing or smiling at the stories. "I think I should get you a loom since you're very good at spinning yarns. I thought I saw a mermaid once, but I think it was just some sort of sea creature I'd never seen. I don't think it was a real mermaid. I did see a big squid. Not a giant one, but it was as long as this boat we're sitting in. At least, I thought it was big." Sam settled a little closer to Dean. "Just so you know, I...I like you. When you touch me. The way you kiss me. Your voice. The way you can be kind and gentle. And maybe when you need me so badly, the way you lose control." 

Dean most definitely did not like the strange fluttering in his stomach. "You are the most seductive, baffling person, that I have ever met," he answered, cupping Sam's neck and drawing him closer as he leaned forward a little, slanting his mouth across Sam's and hovering. "When you kiss me back, it feels... it feels real, it feels as if you're holding nothing back. And yet it makes no sense. How can you like me, when by all rights you should hate me?" He knew that as the truth, as a fact, because he'd hated Samuel for the same reason. Sam's actions as a youth had lead to Dean being forced to allow men to do despicable, painful things to him. After that, the only thing he'd felt for Sam, a brother he'd hoped to love, he'd promised to protect, had been hate. A hate so deep he had waited more than a decade and then exacted his revenge on Sam, given him the same treatment he'd received. 

Dean brushed his lips against Sam's, trying to feel that same hate, to pull it around himself like a protective mantle, but it was impossible. It was gone. Choking back a sob, Dean crushed his mouth against his brother's, kissing him desperately, pulling him into his embrace and demanding he make these feelings subside, that he bring back the clarity Dean had lost. 

Sam was glad for the kiss from Dean because he really didn't have an answer for him. There was the cruel man who had done terrible things to him that first day. He felt no anger toward him for the flogging. He had known if he tried to escape he would face punishment if caught. But then that same cruel man had strung him up, injured, for all day and half the night. That person was different from the man kissing him now. Sam knew he was still there, that he could reappear if Sam gave him cause. The man kissing him, he had confusing feelings about. Dean's muffled sob and sudden apparent desperation, it triggered a need in him, a desire to make Dean happy, to soothe him, comfort him, and to be anything Dean needed him to be. Sam tightened his embrace, cupping the side of Dean's face, kissing him passionately. When he finally needed to breathe, he pulled back and stared into the man's green eyes. "No, it doesn't make any sense, but...it is what I feel."

Dean's lips parted. He licked them as he searched for words, words that stuck in his throat. What was he going to say? We're brothers. Maybe that accounted for some of these feelings, a familial bond, one that Dean had been so sure no longer existed. That would only lead to more questions and there were some things Dean couldn't put to words, and even if he could, he doubted anyone who listened would understand. "I feel it... something." He tried to pull away but Sam didn't loosen his hold and he was forced to keep eye contact. A muscle throbbed in his jaw. His chest rose and fell with the deeper breaths he started to take. "I'm sorry, Samuel. For what I did that first night. No other prisoner has been treated like that and I would hang any man who did what I did. I won't ask for forgiveness because," he gave a bitter laugh, "it's not something I would forgive. I can't even swear that if I had to do it over again, things would be different. What I can promise is it will never happen again, no matter what."

Sam's hand was still against Dean's cheek and he rubbed his thumb over Dean's lips. "It's done. You had your reasons. Reasons still valid to you else you would say things would be different if time were to be turned back. You have a cruel streak in you but I sense it is because of things that happened to you, not because you are evil-hearted. That part of you I don't like to see, but I understand it is there. I too have done cruel and hateful things and wish I could undo them, undo them all. But like you, if time were turned back, I can't be certain I would not do the same things I did. I was young and foolish and desperately wanted my father's approval and the approval of my peers. Whether a few days ago or years ago, what has been done cannot be undone, and both of us, we can only look ahead and try not to repeat the errors we now regret." He looked into Dean's eyes. "Let go of those regrets and live for the future. I forgive you and I believe you when you say it won't happen again. Do not let what happened eat at your mind and heart. Keep your promise and that is enough for me. I ask only one boon. Please, call me Sam. Samuel is...that is what my father calls me. I would prefer to be Sam."

Feeling his eyes sting, Dean blinked away the tears. He didn't think he could let go of the past, but there was one thing he could do. "Sammy," he said, flashing back and recalling himself hanging over the side of Sam's crib and talking to him about how much fun they'd have once Sam stopped being a baby. "Sam," he nodded, smiling a little. 

"Aye, much better," Sam said, smiling. He hadn't been called Sammy since Miss Sophie passed. The shine in the captain's eyes told him the man was fighting back tears and he wished he understood what had brought those tears. "I don't know what horrors touched you, but you have a kind soul, a fine, courageous soul, and I am glad we have met here and now." Leaning in, he kissed Dean gently, trying to show him how true he believed those words to be and wishing he could take some of those horrors away from the man.

The kiss was slow, sweet and gentle, the opposite of the feelings that often raged within Dean. In fact, his brother was in many ways, his exact opposite. Sam was a deep thinker, he was gentle and caring and forgiving. He didn't horde his humor or his smiles, he didn't hold grudges. And he was strong, not just physically, but he had an inner strength that was hard to miss. Dean had been seeking some family resemblance in him, and now, in his mind's eyes, he saw it clearly. Sam was just like their mother. He was everything Mary Winchester would have wished for in a son.

He broke the kiss and searched Sam's face. "You're so much like her. Lady Mary Winchester. I don't know how I missed it." He knew damned well. His hate had blotted out everything else. Before Sam could ask him questions, he ran his fingers through Sam's hair, cupped the back of his head and pulled him close again, bringing his mouth down over Sam's. He sucked lightly on Sam's lower lip, giving a soft moan, then pushed his tongue inside Sam's mouth, heat flaring instantly between them. As he deepened the kiss, he started to run his hand firmly over Sam's chest and side, his palm itching to touch him under his clothes. His knuckles brushed over Sam's groin as he worked his hand under his shirt, deliberately fighting the material of his shirt and using it as an excuse to linger over Sam's cock now straining against his trousers.

Groaning into Dean's mouth, Sam thrust his hips forward a bit, seeking pressure for his needy cock as Dean struggled with the silk shirt apparently tucked in too well. Dean's actions ignited his blood instantly and his kisses grew more demanding of the captain. Absurdly, his mind noted he ought to try to secret some containers of butter in prime locations, or start keeping some on him. He rolled back, pulling Dean a little more on top of him. He wanted to ask what Dean knew of his mother, but it was obvious it wasn't open for discussion at the moment, and he could ask soon enough. Right now he wanted Dean focused only on one thing. Him.

Chuckling, Dean pushed against Sam, his thigh pressing against Sam's cock and practically chest to chest with him as he kissed his throat. "What happened to going slow?" From the way Sam was writhing under him, he knew damned well that Sam wanted anything but slow right now, and perversely, it made Dean want to draw their pleasure out, and to tease the way Sam had taught him. "Hmm?" he asked, slipping his hand up and down Sam's side, his thumb grazing his brother's nipple.


	8. Chapter 8

Moaning, Sam shook his head slightly as he tilted it back, giving Dean more access. "You drive all sensibilities from me. Your touch, it is like a brand on my soul. My blood is oil and you are a torch setting it aflame." He ground his hips against Dean's thigh, slipping his own hand between Dean's legs and giving pressure to Dean's solid cock. "I take it back. You are evil. But in all the right and perfect ways," Sam said as he arched against Dean's teasing touches on his chest.

"Aye... evil. I come to steal all your treasures," Dean answered between panted breaths, delicious heat curling through him as he ground his hips and rubbed his cock against Sam's palm, his eyes sliding closed when Sam squeezed him. "And you have many treasures, hidden... here.... here... here..." Touching Sam in all the places he knew made him wild, Dean kissed him again, swallowing his moan and sliding his tongue in and out of Sam's mouth, enjoying his taste and the way Sam countered by twisting his tongue around his own. "Mmm..." He had Sam's shirt open, and now his hands boldly roamed over his body, claiming him... claiming his treasures.

Sam tore at the captain's shirt with one hand, pulling the material free of the back of Dean's trousers. He slid his hand up Dean's back, feeling the scar tissue that crisscrossed his back over and over. His own back held scars but it was obvious that Dean had been whipped repeatedly, more times than Sam could begin to fathom. A slave aboard a ship, that surely brought lashes down on him, but this was more, so much more. "And what if 't'is I who's the pirate," Sam whispered. "Maybe I'll steal your treasures tonight," he said, reaching deeper under Dean's cock to lightly squeeze Dean's balls. "I'll steal every last pearl from you, two, maybe three times over."

"Ngh..." Rendered incapable of speech, Dean rolled his head back. The stars blurred as another wave of heat washed over him and had him jerking his hips. "Sammy..." he said, his voice a deep raspy whisper, "take, steal or milk as many pearls from me as you want." He started to lift up off Sam, his knee banging against the floor of the boat and his foot striking the center bench seat. A string of oaths so dirty they might shock even a hardened sailor left him as he re-adjusted his body and unfastened his trousers. 

Dean's eyes were locked on Sam, slowly roving down his flushed face visible under the moonlight, along the pale column of his throat down over his chiseled chest. Without taking his eyes off Sam, he reached for Sam's pants and undid them as well, pulling Sam's cock out and slowly moving his fist along its hard length.  
Watching Dean with anticipation, Sam hadn't been sure what to expect when Dean reached in and undid his pants. To have that large hand wrap around his already firm dick had Sam arching back, groaning in pleasure. "Deannn..." Sam practically keened, his eyes squeezed shut against the sudden pleasure pulsing inside him. "How can I...steal...your pearls...when you're...after mine," Sam gasped. After a few more long strokes, he grabbed the hand Dean was pleasuring him with, stopping him. "...Hold...Just let me..." Sam groaned as he tried to gather his wits. He shook his head as if to clear it, then pushed Dean away from him. 

Cocking his head, Dean sat back for a moment on the bench chair where the rowers would sit. When Sam literally turned upside down on the chair, so his long legs trailed up and over the backrest, and his head hung down, just over the seat toward the floor ... right where Sam could wrap his lips around Dean's cock, Dean's mouth went dry. He stared dumbly until Sam reached out and pulled him closer by the tails of his shirt. Dean's knees hit the seat on either side of Sam's shoulders and then Sam's hot, wet tongue was licking along his length and Dean thought he'd go insane with need. One hand gripping the backrest, Dean managed to reach for Sam's cock again, groaning when the moisture accumulated at its tip smeared over his palm. "You're a most... inventive, thieving, pirating, pearl hunter," he said, leaning in more and resting his face against Sam's thigh as he pumped his hand more firmly up and down Sam's shaft.

"I simply wanted," Sam groaned as Dean worked on him, "to give you...a chance at my pearls... too." Sam began to suck lightly on the side of Dean's cock, then licked along it again before twirling his tongue around Dean's balls. "Mmm, big pearls," Sam murmured before sucking one of Dean's balls into his mouth and toying with it. 

"By all that's..." Dean's knees buckled and if they hadn't been propped against the edge of the seat, he'd have hit the floor. Each wet slide of Sam's mouth and tongue over the sensitive skin stretched almost painfully tight over his cock, thick and heavy with arousal, had every muscle in Dean's body tightening, his stomach clenching. He fought to prevent himself from fucking Sam's mouth, from taking the pressure he craved more by each passing second. A guttural moan tore from his throat, then he was panting harshly, waiting for the next lick, and the next. It was heaven and hell on the seas, of that he was sure.

Dean tried to give back, squeezing Sam's cock and sliding his hand up and down his rigid shaft, twisting his wrist with each stroke. Each time moisture collected on Sam's tip, he ran his thumb over it, rubbing the side of his finger over Sam's slit. From the way Sam tensed and jerked his hips forward, Dean knew he was giving Sam pleasure, but he wanted to give him more. The next time he coaxed a droplet of cum to appear, he closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, and dipped his head down. He was going to do this. By God, he was going to.

At first, he ran his tongue over Sam's tip, tasting him. With a little hesitation, he took Sam's crown into his mouth and gently sucked on it. He wanted to take more of Sam inside his mouth, wanted to give more of himself, but he simply couldn't. So he played a game of pretend, stroking Sam's dick more firmly, from base to where his mouth just barely capped his cock. Refusing to think of the past, but knowing it was there, in the dark corners of his mind, he concentrated instead on the feelings coursing through his own body, pure magic, which he hoped was strong enough to keep him licking and sucking just a little longer.

Sam loved the reactions he was pulling from Dean, knowing that Dean had never before had such pleasures. He wrapped his arms around Dean's thighs as he worked and played with Dean's cock and balls. He liked the mix of trepidation and confidence of Dean's hand and mouth and tongue on his own cock, but was equally certain Dean had been forced into sodomy. It took great restraint not to thrust harder, not to seek the heat of the depths of Dean's mouth. He wanted to pull Dean forward, to stretch and lick behind Dean's balls, to slip his tongue into Dean's hole, but he sensed Dean was already fighting inner battles. A battle against bad memories. A battle against taking Sam's mouth hard and desperate. In this position it would be all too easy to choke Sam and Sam already knew Dean tended to lose control.  
"Suck me harder, captain," Sam begged. "You don't have to take me deeper, but suck harder. I won't release in your mouth, I swear," he said, stroking the back of Dean's legs and toying with Dean's slit with his tongue, sucking on the tip intermittently. 

Flinching, Dean pulled his mouth away and buried his face against Sam's leg. _Take me deeper._ 'You don't have to take me deeper.' Two voices, one cruel and hard-edged, the other soft and gentle... they battled and warred in his mind. He fought to keep them separate, to push the past back where it belonged. He concentrated once again on the things Sam was doing to him and thought about Sam's voice, Sam's words, Sam's taste... none of it horrifying, all of it offering a strange comfort that he barely understood. Clinging to those thoughts like they were his lifeline, he managed to drown out the darkness and guided Sam's cock back to his mouth. He started to lick him, the same way Sam was licking and sucking his tip, the way he pressed his tongue down on his slit. Following Sam's lead, he didn't have to think, just follow the map drawn by Sammy. When Sam sucked his crown, he did the same for his brother, sucking harder when he could manage, or lighter when he needed a break, but stroking him steadily, both anxious and determined to work Sam up into the same state of need that Dean was reaching.   
Sam was afraid he'd asked too much of Dean, but then Dean began mimicking him and it was... _perfect._ Every pleasure he gave to Dean was returned to him by Dean, like an exquisite ballroom dance of mirrored moves. He showed Dean the pleasures that could be given without ever taking a cock in his mouth as he wrapped his lips along its side, licked firmly along its underside, used his lips and tongue at the top of the crown to play and tease. He fingered and gently sucked on Dean's balls, feeling them growing ever tighter even as did his own. He resisted running his fingers along Dean's crack, wanting to play with his hole, but he would save that.

Their moans carried out across the sea as they explored each other and gave each other equal pleasure. This was new for Dean, Sam knew Dean couldn't have the control Sam did and it was best he not make Dean wait much longer. "Bring me to come, then I will finish you and drink your cups dry and steal your pearls," Sam promised.

Already caught in a fever of lust, Sam's promise inflamed Dean. Groaning, he started to stroke Sam faster, unconsciously thrusting his own hips and bearing down more firmly against Sam's wicked, sometimes elusive mouth. As he worked Sam, he used his free hand to stroke Sam's inner thighs over his pants, sometimes moving his hand under the material and paying attention to Sam's balls or pressing his thumb along the sensitive areas surrounding them. He kept his mouth on Sam's cock, still sucking or licking his tip, moaning as he tasted more of his cum. Could he stay like this, could he take it? He wanted to, by God, he wanted to. Bracing himself, he pushed down, taking more of Sam's cock into his mouth and sucking hard. He felt Sam jerk, felt Sam's cock slide against his palate, felt a sense of panic welling up inside him, but he fought it, sucking harder and refusing to recoil even if he couldn't bring himself to take all of Sam inside his mouth.  
Time stood still. Battles were waged and won and lost within Dean, but he concentrated only on Sam, knowing he was safe, this was safe. That Sam wouldn't ask for more, nor would he think less of him if he pulled away now. For once, in a very, very long time, he wanted to do something for someone other than for himself or for the good of his crew. He wanted to please. He wanted to give, even if Sam would never know what it cost him. As he felt Sam tense, felt Sam's balls tighten, Dean refused to pull his mouth off. He squeezed, and stroked with his hand, and sucked as much of Sam's cock as he could bring himself to, even smiling a little when a particularly dirty sounding moan broke from Sam.

The aggressiveness of Dean's motions was unexpected, but then Dean was aggressive about everything, so Sam shouldn't have been surprised. He had to lock his legs around the backrest, fearing he would thrust into Dean's mouth without meaning to. He nipped at Dean's inner thigh as he thrashed and groaned. When Dean took him in deeper he sucked Dean's balls into his own mouth, his fingers digging into Dean's ass. Releasing Dean's balls, he cried out in pleasure again, feeling the heat building in him so high he thought he could feel the flames. "Gonna...ngh...Dean...off...pull off," Sam begged, knowing he was about to explode down Dean's throat, wanting to, but he had promised Dean he wouldn't. 

"Nmnnn..." Dean tried to say 'no' while his mouth was still wrapped tightly around Sam. He was going to do this. This was on his terms, with someone he wanted to do this for. It wasn't all or nothing, and he was going to give what he could, right here, right now. From the way Sam desperately writhed but somehow managed not to thrust, the way his fingers bit hard into Dean's flesh and the way he started to push him away in warning, Dean knew Sam was struggling to hold back. But Dean would have none of it. He pressed his tongue harder against Sam's cock and sucked just a little stronger, increasing Sam's agony and focusing on how Sam must feel, rather than allowing his mind to wander to darker places.

"Ungh..." Sam tried to hang on, tried to get Dean to release his cock and let it slip from his mouth but he finally couldn't any longer. He arched as his body won out, as his balls tightened and he felt his cum rocket from his insides and into Dean's mouth. His balls pulsed and clenched, emptying everything, "Oh God, Dean!" Sam gasped, would have screamed were he not so accustomed to keeping his cries soft in fear he and his lover would be heard by his father. "Oh my God, my God," he murmured, still shuddering as the pleasure made his body jerk and tingle and twitch.

Prepared for Sam's uncontrolled thrust as he came, Dean managed to prevent Sam from penetrating deeper into his mouth, but he sucked and swallowed every last bit of his slightly salty cum and even milked him for a little more. His hand slowed over Sam's softening flesh and when he finally pulled off, he leaned back in and kissed Sam's cock, immediately feeling a little foolish about it. "I..." he let out some hot breaths and leaned his face against Sam's leg. "I can see where you might make the mistake, but I'm not God. Just a Pirate King. Majesty will suffice," he said through a smile, touching his mouth in wonder. "And you... you had better get to your pirating, there are pearls to be won." His own state of arousal had not abated and Sam had a promise to keep.  
Sam's legs loosened from clenching the backrest as he gasped for air. He twisted as he sat up, looping his arm around Dean's neck and pulling him back. He threw both arms around Dean and kissed him, his tongue sliding into Dean's mouth wanting desperately to taste himself in Dean. The kiss was deep and real and Sam didn't want to stop, but he could feel Dean's need. Sam slowly stood, turning Dean to reverse their positions, finally letting him breathe, letting them both breathe. Placing his fingertips on Dean's chest he pushed him down into the luxurious seat. Picking up his shirt, he grabbed either sleeve and tossed it over the back of the seat, looping it around the back. "Here, hold a sleeve in each hand." Leaning in and whispering in Dean's ear he said, "Don't let go, not until you _feel free_ to let go." Sam stared a moment into those dark, lust-filled eyes, not sure if Dean understood, but hoped he would when the time came, when Dean could let go of the bindings of the past. "Now, 't'is my turn to see what pearls you have hidden and where they might be."

Spreading Dean's legs apart, Sam got down on his knees. He closed his palm slowly around Dean's swollen cock and inched his mouth closer and closer to its tip, his mouth open wide. Breathing across the sensitive flesh, the tip of his tongue shot out, flicking away the beads of cum. His other hand roamed Dean's body, caressing his thighs, his balls, up his rock hard abs and muscular chest. Sliding his fingers down Dean's shaft as his mouth sank over it, he took it in deeper and deeper until he felt its tip bottom out in the back of his throat. He swallowed around it repeatedly, rocking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive bottom vein. He pulled off partway, only to swallow Dean back down, his other hand now mirroring the first, caressing and feeling and massaging Dean's muscles.

Dean inhaled his breath sharply, throwing his head back as every touch of Sam's hands and mouth sent fire racing through his veins and engulfed him in heat. Delirious with the fever Sam gave him, Dean mindlessly wrapped the material of Sam's shirt over his fists, in the process drawing his hands closer to the chair and away from Sam. "Oh God.... Samu... Sam," he moaned, lifting his hips up off the chair and tugging more firmly on the sleeves. "Good... so good... sea magic...treasure." He could barely speak, and wasn't even sure he was making sense. His world narrowed to a place where he waited for the next touch, and the next, aching between touches, in heaven when Sam was swallowing around his pulsing cock, and in hell again when he pulled off. "More... please more," he pleaded, sliding down further in the chair and lifting his hips up. "Need. Need," he panted out a few breaths and added, " _you._ "

Increasing his pace, Sam began to work harder on Dean, bobbing up and down faster on his cock. His hands went to Dean's hips, sometimes helping to pull him deeper, sometimes not letting him go as deep as Dean might want, showing Dean how easily he could control how deeply Dean could thrust. He pulled off to stretch his jaw a moment and his eyes swept upward, admiring the glistening body and the handsome face. He pumped his hand along Dean's shaft.   
"Time to suck out a few pearls," Sam declared, grinning, going back down on Dean, now combining suction with the long strokes of his lips wrapped tightly around Dean's cock. 

Dean's groans were raw and throaty, his frustration barely hidden when Sam pulled off his cock. But when his hand replaced his mouth and his eyes raked over him with something more than lust, any complaints Dean had died on his lips. Then Sam sucked him back into the tight wet heat of his mouth and Dean was right back to wanting more. Opening his thighs wider, he raised his hips, trying to thrust deep into Sam's mouth. He tugged on the sleeves bandaging his fists, trying to reach out and touch Sam but finding he'd have to release the material to do so. His breaths came harshly as he looked down at one bound fist, then at Sam and came to the realization that he was as good as tied up, unless he let go against Sam's wishes. "Is this..." Licking his lips, he tugged with both hands. "Shackles... like I chained you?" he asked, a bit of sadness creeping into his tone when he realized he might not be the only one with revenge on his mind. Aye, this wasn't painful, but it might be as close to chaining him as Sam could get.

Sam pulled off and looked at Dean, shaking his head. "No, Dean. Those are _your_ shackles, of _your_ past. Chains you've made or were made for you. It's up to you when you're ready to let them go, when you're ready to break them. Like I said, when you feel _free_...I'm here." He leaned forward and gingerly kissed his lover's stomach. "You have to let go of the other night too. That...those were two strangers. Not us. Not now." Continuing to stroke Dean's cock, Sam pushed himself up so he could kiss Dean on the lips, slipping his tongue inside Dean's mouth briefly, then sinking back to the floor of the boat. "Time to go pearl diving in earnest," Sam said with a wink and turned his attention back to Dean's cock. 

Instinctively, Dean closed his eyes. Had he shown too much of himself? Was Sam too perceptive? Did it even matter? Lanterns were being shone on his past, a past of secrets and shame. A past he clung to because he had nothing else, or because he couldn't see past it. He had a good life now. He was king of the seas, had treasures beyond what he needed, and was free. And yet, he was a slave. A slave to a past that prevented him from enjoying the simple pleasures of life. He opened his eyes just in time to see Sam's playful wink, and then his body was burning again under Sam's ministrations.

He studied Sam carefully, watching his head move up and down, noting how caringly he touched him with his hands, how good Sam's hand felt splayed wide over his abdomen. Reassuring and yet exciting, gentle but with a touch of possessiveness he hadn't been aware Sam had. As the tension built within him, Dean started to writhe and thrust upwards, to struggle against the sleeves, wanting so badly to touch Sam, to push his head down, to gain a slight measure of control denied to him like this. He understood finally what Sam meant, that something else was indeed in control, even when he thought he was at the helm of his life, when he planned out the details, when he carefully laid his plans of revenge.   
His lips parted. His head moved from side to side as the pleasure Sam was giving him intensified, blurring his vision. "Want. Want to touch you. Want to..." Slowly, deliberately, he unwound the sleeves from his fists. "Want to be free," he declared, dropping the material and reaching for Sam. "Go on, you're free to plunder my loot," he whispered, surprised at how easy it was. He buried one hand in the silky softness of Sam's hair, pushing Sam's head down slightly now and again, and gripping his shoulder with the other, sometimes caressing his neck and jaw and moving back to his shoulder. "Oh God... close...fu..." 

Sam knew Dean's feelings of being 'free' were likely fleeting, but it was a step forward. Since Sam had obviously done something to help forge those chains, it made him happy to know he might help break or weaken those same chains. And as strange as it was, he cared about this man in ways he didn't understand or necessarily want to acknowledge. He liked the way Dean's fingers caressed him, so gentle and yet demanding. Sam froze mid-motion, savoring the moment, the sounds Dean made, the way his fingers dug into his shoulder, the pained panting of his breathing. Closing his eyes he pulled off Dean's cock long enough to take a deep breath, then began to finish him, giving him no mercy, sucking and working him with everything he had in him.

In the fever of need, Dean started to thrust into Sam's mouth harder and faster. Sometimes he lost all sense of time and place, his mind a haze of lust, and at more lucid moments, he realized he was being rough, tugging Sam's hair, and forced himself to gentle his motions. "Yes...oh God yes, don't stop, don't stop," he commanded, his voice unsteady and edged with desperate need. His moans turned to short grunts. "Fuck... Sam..." Closing his eyes, he arched, searing heat ripping through him as he released thick ribbons of cum deep inside Sam's mouth, calling his name and kneading his shoulder. As the ache in his loins eased, he opened heavy lidded eyes and saw a few drops escape Sam's lips and gave him a tired smile. "My pearls look better on you. Ungh..." Thrusting lightly one more time, he lowered his hips back to the seat, and ran his hand down the side of Sam's face.  
Sam had swallowed as fast as he could but had not been expecting quite the amount Dean had released. Sam licked his lips. "Mmm, quite a bit of treasure I plundered from you," Sam said, rolling his cheek into Dean's touch. Crawling up Dean's body, he ran his hands along Dean's sweat-drenched skin. "You look thoroughly plundered and exhausted," Sam said, sounding quite pleased with himself, kissing Dean's jaw, then his lips. He settled down in Dean's arms. "Do you know how strange a thought it is for me to know we could stay here, like this, all night, and not fear discovery? We could watch the stars turn in the sky, wheeling about the North Star, or watch the dark ripple of waves or even wait for the sun to rise, and I've no worries about what the morrow will bring? No wondering if someone heard or if they will tell my father. I feel safe, for the first time since...since I don't know when. How ironic that I feel more free now than I ever have. I will treasure this night, Dean. Always."

Dean closed his arms around Sam and held him tight, safe from the danger he didn't name but of which Dean was now aware. And believed. He dropped a light kiss over Sam's brow and answered, "Aye. It's strange. But only as strange as it is for me to think I've never felt more free." Shaking his head, he let out a hot breath. He could feel Sam's heart pounding against his chest and knew his own was still beating too fast. He started to stroke Sam's hair as he looked up at the stars and listened to the water lapping against the ship. "Once, thoughts of you kept me up all night." It had been thoughts of his father, more than his brother, but Samuel hadn't been spared. So many nights had been spent with Dean thinking or dreaming about their treachery and about exacting his revenge. "Now..." He chuckled, and was surprised that he could laugh about it. "Now you're quite the _sleeping drought._ " He ought to tell Sam that he felt it too, that this night was special. Yet he couldn't, so instead he held him and touched him in ways he hoped gave the message he was unable to utter.

"Perhaps tomorrow I can keep you up all night long for entirely different reasons," Sam said, grinning mischievously. "Unless I wear you out again. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone and ruin your reputation. Then again, it would be good for my reputation that I can wear out the Pirate King with hardly a bit of effort on my part," he teased. His 'threats' were weakened as he suddenly yawned. Chuckling he added, "Okay, maybe a bit more effort than I'll admit. Can we stay here awhile and watch the stars and listen to the sea, the creak of the ship and the music of your crew? It's nice, though a blanket would make it perfect." 

"Blanket. I already have a nice, warm one." Dean shifted his leg, straightening it and getting ready for a longer stay. "Ah, you mean for you. It can be arranged. Alfred!" he yelled. Lifting his head, he called out even louder, looking behind him and seeing the man in the crow's nest at the top of the mast giving him a salute. 

The look-out called down, "Cap'n is callin' fer the cabin boy."

The order was loudly repeated by several other crew members. The sound of running feet approaching had Dean holding Sam more firmly as Sam tried briefly to pull away. At least this way, it wasn't obvious that their pants were open at the front.

Alfred came to a sudden stop at the very strange sight of the captain and Sam inside a row boat for no reason he could fathom. Even more strange was their position, though he thought nothing of their shirtless states. He licked his lips nervously. "I'm sorry, Sir, I thought you retired and..." He gripped the edge of the row boat and searched Sam's face, and the captain's. "Is there a... a problem. What happened? Do you need help getting up?" he asked Sam specifically, wondering if he'd fallen on top of the captain, as strange and ridiculous as that notion was since Sam wasn't a clumsy man. Then again, what explanation was there? "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, reaching over to grab Sam's arm.

Sam felt his face flush when the captain called for the cabin boy and saw that the look-out had had a clear view of them. Likely had a clear view of them the other night on the deck in front of the captain's quarters as well. When Alfred approached and Dean wouldn't let him go, he knew his flush deepened. "Oh God, Dean, I feel like a trollop," Sam muttered but saw the mirth in the man's eyes. At Alfred's request Sam shook his head. "Uh, no, I'm fine. We're fine. I just wanted," he blew out a breath, "could you get a blanket for us and maybe some fresh tankards of ale?"

"A what?" Alfred blinked, still prepared to help Sam up. "Are ...you going to stay there, atop the Cap..." He trailed off, his gaze moving to the extra space next to Dean where it would make more sense for Sam to sit.

"Yeah, Sammy, are you going to stay on top of me?" Dean asked. His entire body shaking with laughter though he managed to keep his voice neutral. 

"Since your arms are still wrapped tight around me and you said I was your blanket, I guess I am," Sam said, glaring down at Dean. His gaze lifted to Alfred. "Blanket? Ale? Thank you Alfred," Sam said then promptly covered Dean's lips with his own, intent on stealing Dean's breath away.  
Alfred's indrawn breath was audible. Frozen, he stood there, waiting for the inevitable. The Captain would beat Sam and Alfred would be powerless to stop it. He was hardly aware of it, but he tried to warn the man. "S... Si... sir..."

Just as Dean moved his hand up Sam's back, he heard Alfred muttering under his breath about 'murder' and 'mayhem,' and broke the kiss. "Alfred," he said sternly, grabbing a fist full of Sam's hair.  
"Master Sam didn't mean it, Captain, please Sir--"

"Food."

"Sir?" Bewildered, the normally sharp cabin boy merely stared at the captain.

"With the ale and blankets, bring more food. I've worked up an appetite."  
Sam's eyes came to rest on the cabin boy pale face and concerned, maybe even frightened eyes. "Dean, maybe you ought to explain to Alfred. I think the boy is near ready to swoon," Sam said and smacked Dean lightly on the forehead. "And ouch. Let go of my hair unless you really mean it."

"Ow," Dean growled. "Such insolence Sam... It must be punished."

Alfred winced and looked at Samuel like he was mad to tempt fate.

"Are you going to try to take back your pearls, Captain?" Sam said. "For I've hidden them well, you know. You'll have to go deep. Very deep. Alfred, please be sure to bring some butter if you would," Sam said, giving Dean the evil eye for teasing Alfred.

Looking between the two men, Alfred took their cups and slowly backed away from the boat. 

"You'd think he'd been coddled at home instead of been brought up with sailors and pirates," Dean said, shaking his head as Alfred disappeared. "Now, where were we? Right, your tongue was in my mouth." His gaze dropped down to Sam's lips and he started to draw Sam's head down toward him.  
"It's that fearsome reputation of the Pirate King," Sam said. "And he's never seen you with a man, has he?" Sam let Dean finish pulling him down into a kiss and let Dean have full control. When Dean let him come up for air for longer than a brief second, he lay panting, running his hand along Dean's muscular arm. "What is the crew going to think of you and me being...together. Tongues wag. Will it cause you grief?" he asked, suddenly concerned by the possibility. "And you might have pointed out we were in full view of the look-out," he scolded.

"The crew will think you have seduced me for the purpose of getting better treatment. As for grief, I doubt it. Not too many dare enter a contest of wills with me." His gaze swept over Sam's face, and he chuckled. "You've been on board long enough to know about the crow's nest. I took it as a sign of your debauchery, wanting to play with my pearls in front of company." Widening his legs, he wrapped each one around Sam's and lifted his hips. "Mmm. How much do you want to wager that Alfred drops the tray if he catches us..." He rubbed up against Sam again, giving a satisfied grin when he felt his blood surging to his cock.  
"I'll not wager even a half-penny. He's already bewildered," Sam said, giving a groan in response to the way Dean rutted against him. "And I am not accustomed to providing...public displays. Looking up for watchers was never a thought entertained by me. Obviously you are the one with debauchery among his characteristics."

"Nay, I doubt that as I haven't seen this much sex in... a half year." A soft sound left him as he kneaded Sam's ass over his pants and pressed him down firmer against his aching cock. "Aye... never this much. And if you don't want him to faint, best we get this done quickly," he added, seeking Sam's mouth and grinding against him faster and faster, already needing release.

Sam couldn't believe Dean was ready to go another round so quickly. Feeling Dean move against him, his hot breath across his face, his hands cupping his ass, had Sam groaning as heat began to blossom in his loins yet again. He kissed Dean fervently as he ground his hips against the captain's. He'd planned to lay and enjoy the view, held in Dean's arms, bring Dean slowly back to arousal, and with the butter, entice Dean to take him again, but he could tell that wasn't going to happen. He twined his tongue with Dean's and thrust against him, giving Dean the pressure they both needed, their cocks sliding against each other, pre-cum slicking them.

The sounds around them died away. Dean hardly noticed the music or the shouting and merry-making. His world was filled with Sam. Brother. Enemy. Friend perhaps. Lover. His taste, the sounds he made. The weight of his body pressing down on Dean. The heat emanating from him, the friction between their bodies as they moved desperately against each other, single mindedly seeking release. Once, his brother had made him burn with hate and a need for vengeance. Now, he still burned for Samuel. Burned hotter for him than he'd ever imagined he could for anyone. "Sam. Sam... Sam ungh..." He found himself whispering his brother's name against his lips as his body tensed, the heat building a little more, and then he went careening over the edge. His fingers bit into Sam's ass and back as he forced him down hard against his own frame, lifting his hips to grind against Sam's dick and giving a deep groan as liquid heat spread between their bodies.

The low voice, raspy, filled with desire and need drilled into Sam and drove him on. Soft full lips pressed against his own. His lover, calling his name. He still loved Gabriel but Dean's desire for him, the way he seemed to...love...him, it eased that painful hole in his heart for Gabriel. Gabriel would approve of Sam moving on, finding another lover, of finding happiness. The way Dean held him and kissed him and touched him, it didn't feel like it was just sex. It felt like something more. Maybe Sam only wanted it to be something more, but when he felt the warmth spread between them, his own body responded in kind. "Dean..." he whispered and kissed him hard, still rocking against him, wishing it could be like this always. Safe. Happy. Content.

"Sammy," Dean echoed, sucking on Sam's lower lip and slowly easing his grip on him. He wasn't sure how long they lay there, touching and kissing each other but he heard a whistling from the lookout and broke the kiss. "Alfred's on his way back. You want to get decent or you want to give him something to gape at, hmm?" He kissed Sam once more for good measure. 

Sam chuckled as he kissed Dean back. "Let's clean up, then get decent." With a grin Sam grabbed Dean's black shirt and began wiping Dean clean of the cum, then proceeded to clean his own chest and stomach. He tossed the shirt aside and pulled his pants back up before settling on top of Dean once again. "I assume you still want me as your blanket?" Sam asked, rubbing just a little against Dean's sensitive cock as he made himself comfortable. 

"I'm not complaining," Dean smiled.

Alfred arrived and eyed them as he reached over the side of the boat and set the tray down on the bench seat in front of the two men. "Ale, wine, buttered bread, some meat and potatoes," he said, pulling the folded blankets out from under his arm and holding them out. "Master Rufus asked me to bring you a wet cloth as well, it's in the bowl," he pointed with his chin at the bowl on the tray. "I can take it back..."   
"You buttered the bread and brought wet cloth." Dean could tell the boy had no idea what the cloth was for and that Rufus hadn't explained. "Thank you. Make sure you have a heart to heart with Doctor Sam on the morrow, he has a few things he'd like to explain to you."

Sam punched Dean in the arm. "You must be a king since you excel at being a royal pain," Sam muttered to him. He gave Alfred a smile. "Yes, we'll talk tomorrow. Thank you for everything, Alfred. It's perfect. We probably won't need anything else tonight."  
Alfred dipped his head and slowly backed away, clearly still baffled by it all. Sam could feel Dean shaking with laughter. 

"That boy is going to faint dead away when I tell him the truth," Sam said and gave Dean a glare. He plucked the wet towel from the bowl and wiped his hands clean, then gave his front a quick wipe down. He dropped the cloth onto Dean's stomach. "You can tend yourself." Grabbing one of the blankets he opened it up and spread it over them then grabbed one of the mugs of ale.

Now sitting next to Sam, Dean couldn't help being amused, especially as Sam huffed and puffed. He refastened his trousers, leaned forward and grabbed the plate off the tray, then straightened the blanket and laid the plate on his lap. Making sure he selected a nice large piece of meat, he stuffed Sam's mouth with it before giving him yet another duty. "While you're at telling Alfred about this, you might as well also let him know that when we reach port, his first order of business will be to visit a house of ill repute and select a nice, warm wench for the night. I'll foot the bill."  
Sam was surprised when Dean fed him, at least until Dean told him what else he was supposed to do. He nearly choked on the mouthful before managing to chew and swallow it, washing it down with more ale. "You keep this up, and he will end up being my cabin boy. And you can't just send him there." He picked up a piece of meat and fed Dean. "He needs someone to go with him. I mean, he should have someone go with him, to witness him choosing a wench, making that rite of passage official and all. He's your cabin boy. You should take him and make sure he ends up with a decent girl and gets his money's worth." 

"Well that's why I'm paying... so he doesn't go someplace where he'll pick up a case of the pox," Dean said, giving Sam a look that said his meaning should have been obvious. "He can do his own damned picking, I'm not his _father_." He winced at the word, then took Sam's cup and knocked part of its contents back. 

"If a young boy walks in by himself, I'm just concerned they'll take advantage of him and his gold," Sam said. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying more. He didn't want to upset Dean. It had been a nice evening and he wanted to go back to enjoying Dean's company, and looking out over the water. The captain had so many touchy subjects, he didn't want to fall into another pit and upset the man. "I'm sorry. It's not my place," Sam said quietly and looked out over the sea. And it wasn't his place. He wasn't a pirate or a sailor and knew nothing of the way things worked. Tomorrow...tomorrow he found out his fate, whether his father would pay the ransom or not. That made his stomach twist. He'd down more of his ale, but since Dean had taken his mug...he didn't want to touch the other one. If Dean's mood had turned sour, he would rather Dean have it all available to him.  
Perplexed, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Why do you apologize for having an opinion?" 

"...Opinions are bad to have if they do not agree with the one in charge," Sam answered with a half-shrug. "It's been nice. I don't want to change the mood and start a fight. I know nothing of the ways of sailors, and cabin boys, and captains. I should not speak on something that I am uneducated in."

A wounded look entered Dean's eyes before he pulled his gaze away and stared at the waters ahead. "If that is what you really think, then I've already played the fool believing the words that come out of your mouth. I don't like parrots. I don't _need_ parrots," he corrected, trying to control the flash of anger and disappointment he felt. "Or lies," he whispered. 

Sam turned and looked at Dean. "I am very good at starting fights. I'm very skilled in it, apparently, because I speak my mind. You heard my opinion. Alfred looks up to you a great deal and I think it would mean a lot to him if you went with him. But I don't know if that's the way things work. Maybe it's tradition for a captain to simply give his cabin boy extra money to go lose his virginity. You seemed...sensitive...about it, so I thought I should apologize for maybe speaking foolishly and I felt I shouldn't push because I don't know what tradition is. When someone snaps at me, I have been... well disciplined...to apologize if I don't want to rile them further. And I don't want to antagonize you tonight. Yet I seem to manage to have that skill too. You asked why I apologized. I was just telling you the truth of my life. Please don't me angry with me because of it." 

"I'm not sensitive about it," Dean answered rather heatedly, facing Sam. "For God's sake, all we're talking about is Alfred's virginity, not a keg of black powder about to explode. And I didn't 'snap at you,' I was amused, until..." he waved his hand, "you implied I'm somehow restricting your opinion." Deep down, Dean knew he wasn't being fair. He'd repeatedly told Sam that Sam was his captive and someone in that position would, or should, watch their tongue. But that was the very reason he'd suspected everything Sam told him, until... well at some point he'd started to believe. He didn't like gray areas, Goddammit, he liked black and white, and it was being denied to him. His gaze clashed with Sam's and he took a deep breath. "I'm not angry, I'm... annoyed. There's a difference." 

" _All_ we're talking about is his _virginity?_ It's a rite of passage into manhood! It shouldn't be trivialized!" Sam protested. "And you _did_ snap at me when you said you weren't his father! So I figured I'd stepped out of line. I was _trying_ to be respectful of you, your position, and how you choose to run your ship. And it's a load of manure if you think I believe you're not angry. Dammit, man, you've pissed me off. If all I've done is annoy you I'm obviously losing my touch!" he said, his nostrils flaring and eyes flashing.   
Dean's frown slowly melted away. "It wasn't about you, alright? It wasn't anything you said. You're not the only one who has ... issues with your father. I've come to hate that word." He gave a snort. "I was angry at myself for even jesting about being mistaken for one. _Briefly angry,_ " he added. "Believe me, if and when I'm angry at you, I will tell you directly. I don't do subtle." Searching Sam's still angry face, he ran his hand down his cheek. "I don't want to argue."

Sam glared at Dean, but made himself listen. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Neither of us wants to argue yet we seem to be doing a masterful job at it...and I bet you'd make a good father. You know what not to do." Poking Dean lightly in the shoulder he added, "You are quite skilled at subtle, at least when it comes to not telling things you don't want to say. Or maybe that's avoidance. Like not telling Alfred you and I are lovers. Alright, no fighting _if_ you promise to send someone with Alfred who will look after the boy's welfare. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Wanting peace above anything else, Dean didn't point out he was neither afraid of nor avoiding telling Alfred anything at all. He was merely amused by the boy's naivety and blindness to what was happening in front of his face. His reason for telling the boy that Sam would explain was exactly the same, he'd wanted to see Sam's reaction and merely imagining him explaining to the lad amused him. Perhaps in time, Sam would understand these things about him. Then again, they were running out of just that. Time. "I will send twelve of my bravest with him, and I'll instruct them to be in the room with Alfred at all times, encouraging and giving him advice and keeping him safe." When Sam opened his mouth, Dean was quick to shovel more food into it and stop any protest. Grinning smugly, he sat back and took a bite of food himself, then put an arm over Sam's shoulders and pulled him close.

Sam didn’t have a choice but to chew and swallow unless he wanted to spit the food in Dean's face. He saw that Dean was teasing him about Alfred and taking great delight in the whole affair. He let Dean pull him close and snagged back his half full mug of ale. "You are highly amused at my expense, aren't you?" Sam complained, when he'd finally swallowed, then washed it down with some ale. "And stop stuffing food in my mouth. Soon you will be accusing me of eating all the food and drinking all the ale. So tell me about this port we will be in tomorrow. I haven't a clue where we even are. Is it an island? Mainland? Is it a secret port that only pirates know about? Might there be any famous pirates in port? Present company excluded, of course, your majesty," Sam asked. In part it was to make conversation, and in part he was simply curious. Of course, if his father denied paying the ransom, it wouldn't hurt to have some idea where he was and what he might be forced to do to preserve his life. He had no delusions that Dean cared enough for him that Dean wouldn't be forced to kill him in order to keep his reputation and the respect of his crew. It was simply business, and he knew from watching his father that emotions had no place in business.

Dean chuckled at the use of his title. "An island port in the Gulf of Mexico, a pirate base," he confirmed. "It's not very secret but it is very well protected. As for who might be in port, I don't know," he gave a shrug. "Let's hope Yella Beard isn't there or he'll be screaming for blood. All we did was lock his men up so they couldn't get back to their ship, and then plundered the ship he was planning to take. That man has absolutely no sense of humor. Ah well, we'll cross that bridge if we get to it." Taking a last bite of his food, he licked his fingers clean.  
"A pirate base?" Sam grinned. Although it would be a terrible place to try to escape from, and an island no less, he was still excited at the idea. Of course if any other pirate caught wind he was a captive held for ransom who had escaped, he didn't doubt he would be right back in shackles or worse. It could be that first night over and over and over again. He couldn't deny going there was a good strategy on the part of the captain. "I've not heard of Yella Beard. Though if we encounter him, I'll pretend I've heard he is the terror of the high seas. Do they have shops there? What sort of things do they sell? If I survive this adventure I would like something, perhaps a necklace, if one guinea would buy me such a thing. Or mayhap I will have to settle for stealing the red scarf you danced with the other night. Or I might want a tattoo. A tattoo is roguish and something no proper gentleman would have. That would surely annoy my father. Perhaps simply "PK" to show I was once yours." 

"You, my dear fellow, are no 'proper gentlemen.'" Giving Sam a look, Dean leaned in and kissed him. The heat that washed over him at the thought of branding Sam with his mark startled him into intensifying the kiss, if only to try to control his thoughts and sudden urges. Blindly, acting on instinct, he found Sam's hand and took the cup from him, setting it safely down onto the floor. Dropping the plate that had been on his lap down as well, he rolled half on top of Sam, kissing him harder thrusting his tongue in and out of his mouth, demanding he quench the fires he'd started with his simple suggestion.

Although the kiss hard started simply enough, suddenly it seemed the captain's fires were burning for him again. The provocative way Dean kissed him quickly had Sam moaning and he could feel himself begin to harden again. Even Gabriel was not this insatiable. Sam wrapped one leg around Dean's and captured him in an embrace. "How do you do this to me," Sam gasped when he had a chance to breathe a moment, finding himself arching up against Dean. "One kiss and I am under your spell. The butter. Find the butter," Sam begged, all thoughts of a long, slow toying with Dean tossed overboard as he burned with need for the man.

Dean gave a choked laugh. "Alfred buttered the bread for us... I'll take you like that when we're in my quarters, this will do for now," he said, moving suggestively against Sam. His hand roamed over Sam's chest, pushing aside the material of his open shirt, branding him with invisible marks. Kissing his way to Sam's ear, Dean whispered hotly. "And where would you have my name? Here, here, or... here?" he asked, his calloused palm stopping over Sam's hip bone, his stomach, and then over his heart.  
"Buttered bread has its uses," Sam said, tempted to find the bread and show Dean how much fun buttering one's cock could be. When Dean asked about where Sam would have a tattoo put, Sam was going to make some off-handed comment about putting it on his ass since Dean seemed to like it so much, until Dean's hand rested atop his heart. Sam's breath caught in his chest. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Only if an 'S' is likewise emblazoned over yours, then...yes, that might well be the only place it could go." He touched Dean's chest lightly, his fingers resting over Dean's heart, his gaze lifting to meet that of the Pirate King. 

Dean's gaze drilled through Sam. Enemy. Brother. Lover. Love? Crushing his mouth over Sam's, he kissed him with the same intensity as the emotions... the questions... that raged inside him. He battled the storms, Sam's hand pressing against his heart acting as an anchor, grounding him somehow and yet turning his life upside down. By the time he tore his mouth free, it was raw and swollen, just as Sam's lips were. "Maybe," he whispered. "Maybe," then kissed him again, this time far more gently, while thrusting against him slowly, enjoying the lull before the coming storm.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had checked on the crew in the infirmary during the night and they seemed to be doing well so he permitted himself to sleep in, although sleep was difficult with Dean having various crew come in to discuss the upcoming port of call. When Dean left to tend to duties on the deck, Sam finally rose, sponged himself clean, dressed, and ate the breakfast Alfred had left for him. He went down to check on the injured crew once again, making the rounds on the deck as well, checking bandages and stitches and changing out bandages as needed. He went through the infirmary, carefully writing up a list of everything that seemed to be missing or was running low, though there were a few completely empty slots on the shelves with no way for him to figure out what the doctor had kept there. After asking around, he went over the list with Rufus and left it with him. Sam had to admit he was a little disappointed by the idea he would no longer be the ship's doctor by the end of the day. It only reinforced to him just how much he truly wanted to become a physician.

Port was about an hour out when Alfred showed up at the door to the doctor's quarters. Sam was straightening things up for the new doctor and smiled at the young man. "What can I do for you Alfred?"

Alfred pulled a small pouch out of his pocket. "The quartermaster said I was to give this to you, Sir," he said, handing it to Sam. Once the man took it, Alfred shifted his weight from one foot to another, waiting expectantly, though he was unclear what he'd been ordered to wait for. One thing he was clear about was he hadn't liked that certain light in the captain's eyes when he'd been selected to take Sam's pay to him for reasons that had nothing to do with the money itself.

Sam shook his head with bafflement as he opened the pouch. He was a captive and they were paying him. That seemed more than a bit outlandish to him. He had told Rufus he didn't want the pay, but obviously Rufus wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He tilted his head seeing Alfred was still standing there, waiting nervously. Then Dean's words from the night before came back to him. 

"We were supposed to have a heart to heart, weren't we?" Sam said, suddenly feeling awkward. He waved to a chair. "Uhm, sit down," he told the boy. "I, uh, I understand that you've not lain with anyone before, yes? Man or woman, whatever your interest is?" 

Alfred, who'd started to sit down, shot back up out of the seat. "Of course I've... Why, who said that about me?" Frowning, he went through a mental checklist of those who might be telling tales. "You shouldn't listen to dirty, lying pirates," he said, his face flushing. "Will that be all?" he started to back out of the room.

"Calm down Alfred, and sit down. No one's been talking. The captain...he wants to see you come into your manhood proper, take you to a house of ladies, and he's paying for the wench of your choice. Or lad, if that's the way your interests go." Sam added the last hoping for a lead in to explaining that he was sleeping with the captain, not that he thought Alfred might actually be interested in lads though one never knew.

"He wants to... you mean the captain. Our captain?" Alfred asked leaning in a little as he locked gazes with Sam in disbelief. He had to have it wrong. "I... it's not necessary... I mean... why?" he asked a little weakly.

"You're old enough that surely you're curious? Usually friends or fathers or older brothers, they take a young man to a house for his first time. My father took me. I was embarrassed and a little scared and nervous. It didn't really help that," Sam cleared his throat, "women aren't where my interests lay. The Captain wants to reward you for your hard work and excellent service to him." He studied Alfred, trying to gauge if it was just embarrassment affecting the boy.

"You didn't want to go?" Unable to hold Sam's gaze, Alfred looked down and only then realized his knuckles were turning white from holding the back of the chair. "The thing of it is..." he finally looked up. "You won't tell the men?" At Sam's nod, he continued. "I'm promised to someone. I don't think she'd like it if I... she might not be pleased with me."

Sam's brows lifted in surprise. "It's not uncommon for a young man to lay with a prostitute before marriage, so he knows best how to please the one he's to marry." Sam's lips pursed a moment. "I'm certain the captain will respect your desire to stay untouched, if that's what you wish. One option many houses offer is a peep show though. You could watch, see what pleases a woman, and you are hidden from all eyes, including hers. Then you could return to your betrothed and say you are still pure and speak the truth."

Alfred chewed on his lip. "My father took my brother to a brothel, but I think he was a bit late. The servants..." He colored at the thought of seeing a few of the maids sneak into his brother's room. "He's... actually he's the one who's supposed to marry her when she's grown, but she doesn't want him. It's why I went to sea. In the navy, I could earn a good living if I did well. Then when a pirate ship came along, I realized I could join up and make a fortune. If I go home with a fortune, her father might agree to let her marry me instead." Realizing he'd gone off a bit, he quickly apologized. "What do you think I should do?" he asked earnestly.

"I think her father might not be pleased knowing you gained your wealth illegally, so best you say you worked for a merchant ship, not a pirate ship," Sam said, being certain to hide his amusement. "I think you should go to the house of ill repute and let a professional show you. The first time for a young lady can be painful. There are ways to make it less so, by stretching her open and using...butter...and she can show you how to go slowly and please your love. You aren't going there to cheat on your girl, but to be a better husband and lover for her. You can keep your heart true, even if your cock has been used a few times. The captain's promised a nice place, a place where you won't come away with anything but a bit of experience." 

"Butter." Alfred blinked, sought out Sam's gaze, then looked away, suddenly wishing the ocean would swallow him up. "I'm sorry, Sir..." Rubbing the back of his neck, he took a few awkward steps toward the door, "I mean if I... if it was a mistake to... the bread... if you and the cap... bollocks."

Sam chuckled, feeling relief well up in him, shocked he wasn't equally feeling awkward. "It's quite alright, Alfred. You didn't realize that your captain and I were being intimate. Why would you? He's only lain with women in the past. And incidentally, a slice of softer bread, well buttered, can be very handy if you are in a rush." 

"Good... very good... if that's all?" Alfred tripped and caught himself. 

"That's all, unless you have any questions?" Alfred's silence made him nod. "Then off with you."

Alfred couldn't get out of the room fast enough. 

Sam sighed when he heard the laughter of the men outside as Alfred emerged. It was all part of growing up he supposed but he knew Alfred was likely as red as an apple at the moment. As he walked up to the deck, he was startled by the sight of a couple more ships in the seas around them and then he remembered they weren't enemy ships, but rather others headed to port. The deck had become greatly animated and Sam couldn't help it. He was like a youngster in a candy shop, up at the railing, watching as the Vengeance made her way into port. He watched the crew pull in the sails, adjust them, listened as Dean called out orders and directions, watched the first mate steer the great ship, and watched as other ships came close enough he could see the men on the decks likewise working.

It seemed to take half the day just to get the ship actually into port, her sails properly rigged and tied off. He felt it as the anchors dropped and the Vengeance was moored, coming to a stand still except for the gentle lapping of the water rocking her. Sam disappeared into the Captain's quarters and collected his guinea which he added to the small pouch of coins he had been paid and checked himself over in the mirror to make certain he didn't look like gentry. He hurried out to the deck where he heard Rufus giving his speech to the crew once again. Sam came to stand beside Dean.

"I told Alfred you were taking him to a good house. He sort of put the pieces together about you and I when I mentioned 'butter.'" Sam hesitated then asked softly. "Am I permitted to go ashore, Captain? There's no place to run on an island, and certainly it's not wise to seek transport on another ship as I am ransom and it's all too likely I would be discovered as potentially being valuable." 

Dean looked Sam over, noticing he seemed uncharacteristically nervous. Not afraid but cautious, perhaps worried about his hopes getting dashed to bits. "You certainly seem to be dressed to go ashore," he noted. "Aye, If I'm to accompany the lad, then I will damn well have you at my side to share my pain." 

Sam broke into a grin. "The only pain will be watching how nervous Alfred will be about it all. When can we leave?" he asked excitedly.

"In a moment." Dean started to head for his quarters, but turned. "Samuel. You will not leave my line of sight. Ever."

Hearing the hard edge to Dean's voice, Sam gave a nod. "Yes sir."

Giving him a nod, Dean climbed the stairs.

Rufus made arrangements to meet with merchants who were more than happy to purchase from pirates and had carte blanche to get in and out of certain pirate bases and ports. The Vengeance had silk to sell, and food supplies to replenish, as well as medicines to acquire. He'd also make certain that their water supplies were replenished. Waving at a group of men and a woman leaving the ship, he turned on his heels and saw Sam leaning against a crate and looking eagerly at the goings on at the busy port. Resting a hand on the hilt of his sword, he headed for the man and stood next to him. 

"You're a good man, I know it after seeing you in action. Resourceful too, worming your way into the captain's bed and maybe his affections." Rufus sternly raised a finger to silence Sam. "I'm not saying I wouldn't have done the same. It's called survival. But what I am saying is just because you are a good and resourceful man, it doesn't make you a clever one. I've known the captain for eight... come nine years, and the look that enters his eyes when he speaks the Winchester name drives ice into even my veins. You know this, you know this about him, and yet you push yourself into his realm, his company. That, my friend, makes you about as foolish as a man who befriends a shark he's whipped and maimed, then trusts it to protect him from others. One wrong word from you. One action that he can interpret as betrayal, and you are done. And God help the rest of us. Do you understand that?"

Sam listened to Rufus, a slight wrinkling his forehead. "No, I do not understand his hate of the Winchesters. I understand he has a short fuse, is quick to anger, and does not like anything to be sitting on the fence. Finding my way into his bed was not necessarily intentional, but I won't deny it has its advantages. I do like him, Quartermaster, though that makes little sense. I am attracted to him and there is a heat between us," he shook his head, "that neither of us seems to understand, but it does not hail from hate. I am growing...fond...of him, but make no mistake that I am quite aware it would take little to have me back at the whipping post or worse. If the worst comes to pass, then sometime in the future let him know...I forgive him for whatever might come, and that I care about him, more than I should, I am certain. Perhaps I am foolish, but don't think I am not likewise clever when I choose to be. And do not think a betrayal on his part would not hurt me as much as a betrayal on my part would hurt him. I am, however, ready for such an event. Know that I will put my survival above his wrath. If I believe he intends to see me dead, then all bets are off. When we are allies, I will give my life to protect any man or woman on board. If that changes and I am no longer an ally," Sam shrugged, "then I will do what I need to do. I believe he knows this as well."

"Spare me the details, boy," Rufus said, raising a hand in a semi-futile attempt to cut off talk about what was between the two men, but he listened nonetheless. "You speak logic when logic has nothing to do with any of this," he said, waving his hand. "Dean is of the sea now. On the high seas you can guess at the weather, you can follow almanacs and weather patterns and make yourself believe the rules you learned will be followed. And they're not. A storm comes out of nowhere. An unforeseen wave. A thousand things can go wrong that shouldn't, and there you are, marooned or dead. Or worse. Watch your step. And mind your reactions once the truth is revealed." Hearing the captain's footsteps, Rufus turned. "Enjoy your time ashore, Captain. Ah, and here comes Alfred," he clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Good luck, lad. Try not to fall in."

Alfred stopped mid-stride, turning beet red at all the laughter around him.

Dean had been searching Sam's face, and Rufus,' a frown marring his forehead. Taking his hat off, he used it to indicate for Sam and the lad to head for the gangplank. 

Truth revealed? Sam wondered, wanting to question Rufus further but saw he'd have no chance. He heard the laughter of the men and joined Alfred's side. "Pay them no mind, Alfred. They have all been where you are at some point. And when you come back, it won't be to laughter but knowing smiles and elbows in the ribs and perhaps even the occasional cheer. When they want the details, which some surely will, simply smile smugly and tell them you don't kiss and tell. Or tell them they can't count that high when they ask how many times."

When Sam stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock he stumbled, expecting the ground to sway as the ship did. It would take him a few minutes to get his land legs back, he knew. He looked over his shoulder at Dean. "So which direction to the best house on the island, Captain?" 

"Up the hill, to Casa Roja," Dean answered falling in step with the pair, his gaze sliding to Alfred who was doing his best to appear as if he wasn't listening. "Alfred, did you sweeten your breath? The women like sweet breath, don't they Sam?" he asked, chuckling and knocking Sam with his elbow.

"Who doesn't?" Sam asked, recalling all the ribbing he had taken when his father had taken him to the brothel. "But Alfred here is going to have the women clamoring for him," he said. Of course they would likely be trying to entice him because it would be worth an extra coin to bed a virgin, though as he understood it, some enjoyed the deflowering of youth.

"Aye, they'll be after you like you are a freshly baked cherry tart, sweet and warm, and freshly scented." A rumbling laugh left Dean when Alfred walked away to look at the wares displayed outside a metal goods store. "I think a woman would appreciate a flower more than a knife. Unless you're going to court Black Beard's woman." He put his hand on Sam's back. "This was a capital idea, I haven't had this much fun since..." Since they'd danced a few nights ago. He took in Sam's silhouette, then looked down, deep in thought.

"Since when?" Sam asked, enjoying Dean's touch, looking at him and trying to fathom what was going on in the head of the paradox of a captain. "Come, Alfred. No dawdling," Sam called to him. "Or I'll announce to everyone in the street the goal of the day." He winked at Dean. If that didn't move the boy onward, nothing would.

"Since the night you clumsily fell off the barrel you were dancing on." Noting how quickly Alfred ran and caught up with them, he ruffled the lad's hair. "You're not nervous enough, but just in case you get tongue tied, you should tell us what you're looking for in a wench, and we can help you find the perfect one. Tell me, long hair, big bosomed?" He put his hands out in front of him, like he was weighing melons. "What? Plump around the ass?" He knocked Sam in the ribs with his elbow. "You try coaxing the lad to talk."

Sam pulled Alfred close and whispered in his ear. "I would suggest opposite of your young lady in looks." He smiled at Dean but kept Alfred's secret as he promised. "So, Alfred, what color hair? Me, I favor the color of your captain's hair."

"It's because you're sweet on him," Alfred managed, smiling slightly. "I favor the same color."

Dean made a face at both of them. "I am not the one who should be made fun of today."

Sam felt a blush crawl up his face. "Who said I was sweet on that rogue? I'll hang him by his thumbs I will!" Sam said, sounding all full of bluff and bluster, but unable to hide his colored cheeks. "A hat. I need to buy a hat," Sam muttered, thinking that with a proper hat he could pull it down a bit so he didn't have to look anyone in the eyes, especially Dean.

"What's this? Your cheeks are warm," Dean said drily, touching Sam's cheek with the back of his hand. "I think he really is sweet on me," he added smugly, laughing with Alfred. 

They laughed and made fun of a troupe of singers that went by, or rather made fun of Dean's attempt to sing along with them. Avoiding a puddle or two in the wider than usual cobbled street, they stopped here and there to taste the offerings of a pastry store and a sweets shop. Alfred didn't seem too thrilled when Dean asked the store keeper if he had anything that would sweeten up their temporary virgin, though every one else had a good laugh. The street was crowded with people from all over the world and there was chatter in every language known to Dean. When they passed a barber and tattoo shop, Dean cupped Sam's face and turned it so he'd see, then gave him a smile, and continued walking.

Sam felt his cheeks color again when he saw the tattoo parlor, especially with the look Dean gave him. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted a tattoo, but a part of him knew it would be something he would treasure...assuming the rest of days went as the past few had. Once he had it though, it wasn't like he could remove it, only have something else put over it, and it would always be there, underneath, to remind him for good or ill. 

Stopping at a street vendor, Sam got a mug of ale for each of them. He felt like he needed a drink and he knew Alfred could certainly use one. He handed out the mugs. "A toast to Alfred's last hour as a boy," Sam said.

Watching Alfred swallow his down like it was water, Dean upended his cup and finished first. "I wasn't about to come second to a boy without whiskers, though come tomorrow..."

Choking down the last bit of his drink, Alfred wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I wasn't racing ye, Captain. I know better." He looked over at Sam. "Thank you, Sir," he said, raising the empty cup and giving it back to the vendor.

"Come on, man, drink up. Can't you see Alfred is rearing to go." As Sam drank from his cup, Dean started to sing a ditty. "Oh, I went to the brothel to pick a lass, to pick a lass, to pick a lass. I told the madam she had to have hair the color of..." he touched his own hair and waggled his brows, "molasses, aye molasses, aye molasses. And, it had to had to be long and curly? Straight?" he asked, then continued, "curly, aye, curly hair. And that I wanted a buxom wench, buxom wench, aye, a buxom wench." Pinching Sam's shirt over each of his nipples, he pulled the shirt out to give Sam a false bosom, laughing at Alfred's embarrassed expression.

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes, though when Dean gave him the fake breasts, he smacked at his hands and glared at him. "Hey! Stop that! I am not a wench!" He realized he had hair the color of molasses and it was on the curly side in the humid weather. He eyed Dean suspiciously as he upended his ale and finished it off.

A buxom red-head sidled up to Sam and rested her hand on his ass. "Nuthin' wrong with being a wench, sailor. How long ye been at sea?" Her other hand ran down the side of Sam's face as she smiled seductively at him.

"She's right, nothing wrong with being a wench, but..." Dean closed his hand around Sam's arm and tugged him close. "He's my wench, you'll have to find one of your own." Though he smiled and gave her a wink, Dean's gaze slowly moved to her hand still on Sam. When he looked back up at her, the warning was clear in his eyes.

The woman tsked. "A shame, that," she said, her gaze lingering on Sam as she gave his ass a squeeze and then moved on to another sailor she saw had coin.

Sam glared after her but then turning to Dean, couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. "That's the first time I've ever been fought over. At least, by someone I wanted to claim me." After a long moment of staring at the captain, of feeling the familiar heat begin to build between them again, he cleared his throat. "Alfred. Let's get Alfred to his lady."

Clearing his throat, Dean gave a nod, but didn't release Sam's wrist as they headed back to the street and into the throng of people. Occasionally he stole a glance at him and knew that if they'd been alone, clothes would be falling to the ground by now.

When Dean saw the large, white, two-story building with red doors and shutters, he was relieved. Releasing Sam, he walked ahead and started to push one of the doors open when the doorman opened it for him. "Come on Alfred, you're not on the menu. Yet," he joked, meeting Sam's eyes, then stepped aside to allow both of them inside.

From the small parlor they walked into a large room with velvet covered walls, couches and other plush furnishings, large crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. People were socializing in groups. Some women, dressed quite scantily, moved around and touched or leaned over potential customers, be they men or other women, in the process showing off their God given gifts. 

Before Alfred could make his escape, Dean put an arm around his shoulders and started to walk him toward the lady who ran the establishment.

Madam Estelle saw the Pirate King when he entered and was surprised he came with others. He usually came in alone, selected one of her girls practically at random, paid, tended to his business often a bit roughly, then left. She often charged him extra simply because while he might be easy on the eyes, and he was apparently fairly good at kissing, his bedroom behavior left much to be desired. Her gaze looked over the youth at the captain's side. Likely a virgin ready to be made a man. The other one, a man even taller than the Pirate King, he caught her eye and she studied him for a moment. He was healing from a bad beating not more than a week old, though his smile was ready enough. He was too pale of skin to be a sailor and his walk and bearing was measured and graceful. Gentry, most likely. Her gaze slid back to the pirate captain before returning to the tall handsome man. Captive? Then what was he doing running free?

"Captain," she exclaimed, smiling broadly and waving at someone to bring him a drink. "How might my house be of service to you this fine day? A spritely lass for the lad? A willowy woman for your tall friend? A pair of fair and dark-skinned beauties to sate your needs?"

"Estelle," Dean took her hand and kissed it. "Always a pleasure. Let me introduce you," he said. "This is Sam, he's a new recruit smart enough to choose a pirate's life over death at sea. And this young fellow is Alfred. Today I give you a boy, and I expect him to be returned to me a man." He chuckled seeing Alfred flush. "We've come to see that the deed is done," he added, "and to help Alfred make up his mind."

Estelle smiled at Dean. At least the man had manners and he seemed in an uncommonly good mood. Good moods often meant more coin could be bargained for. "Let's see this boy," she said and stepped up to Alfred, taking hold of his chin and turning it one way then the other. "What a fine young man," she said. "Handsome, indeed." She stepped back from the embarrassed boy and clapped her hands. "Ladies, we've a boy come to be made a man. Let's give him a fine selection."

Several of the women broke away from milling about other patrons and approached the three men and Estelle. The women ringed them, giggling, smiling and waving coyly at Alfred.

"He wants a lady," Sam said, "that will teach him the fine art of pleasing a woman." Turning to Alfred, he asked, "So, do any strike your fancy? Hair, face, body, bosom, legs? Those that don't, you can just shoo off politely, you won't hurt their feelings."

Mouth slightly open, Alfred took his time looking at the ladies but tried not to look like he was looking. 

"You look so sweet. Let Marie take you upstairs, I'll take good care of you, hmm?" one of the women said, putting her hand on Alfred's shoulder, and sliding it down his arm. Another woman tapped him on the shoulder and crooked her finger at him.

Meanwhile Dean was taking in the view and mentally thinking about which of the ladies he'd have selected, had he been the youth. Realizing Alfred appeared to have been struck dumb, he shook his head. "I think Alfred might want some incentive. Give the boy a kiss, help him choose."

A brunette sauntered from the bar toward them, and draped her arm around Sam's waist. "Once their business is concluded, maybe you and I can have a little fun," she said, giving him a dazzling smile.

Sam smiled politely at her. "You're very lovely, and what a beautiful smile you have, but I'm afraid I'm already taken and I'll not cheat, not even for one as pretty as you," he said and gently lifted her arm from his waist. He cupped the side of her face. "It's my loss, I'm quite certain."

Dean was very deliberate about not looking over at the woman and Sam and acting as if he was unaware of them but, when she leaned in and kissed Sam to show him what he was missing or why he should change his mind, his head snapped toward them.

Sam stepped back before the woman managed to get her arm around his neck and broke the kiss, her tongue never making it past his lips. Holding her wrist, he met her bold gaze. "Darlin', unless you have a cock between your legs, you're not my type," he told her softly but firmly. It felt so good to say it, to not deny who he really was. He didn't know if there would be ramifications from admitting it, but for once, to be able to just say it in public, it made him feel free. He released her then and turned back to Alfred and Dean. He saw Dean's gaze on him and he gave Dean a small smile. 

The grim look on Dean's face began to fade and he gave a nod, but the look was almost immediately back as a slender, rather feminine boy took over where the brunette had left off, putting his own arm around Sam's waist.

"I think I have exactly what you need between my legs. Come, let's have a drink and talk. Come..." he took Sam's hand and started to pull him away.

At the same moment, Alfred tugged on Dean's sleeve. He was about to shove the boy away, but gritting his teeth, he bent down and listened to him. "Estelle, Alfred would like to talk with..." he pointed out two of the youngest women in the group. "I'm going to make an executive decision. Both of you take him." He gave the surprised lad a shove, and each of the women threaded an arm through Alfred's and took him toward the stairs. Dean hardly saw the youth's backward glances, his eyes were back on Sam and the man flirting outrageously with him.

Sam knew there were male prostitutes but it was the first time he had ever been approached by one. He was a bit startled, expecting that having turned away the woman, he would be left alone, but he hadn't noticed that there were men workers in the room. "No, I'm good, really. I have someone. I'm not interested," Sam protested even as the youth guided him toward the bar.

Estelle smiled. "Your new recruit could use a bit of loosening up it seems," she said to Dean. "I assume you are covering the price of the lad's very lucky choices. How long will he be with them? All night?" she asked. It wasn't lost on her how the Pirate King was watchful of this 'Sam' gentleman. But if the Pirate King was a sodomite, then why had he always selected women when he came to her house? Curiouser and curiouser, she mused.

Running a hand over his face, Dean gave her a curt nod. "Three hours at the very least. Then if he wishes to stay the night, he may, but I'm not waiting for him."

That had Estelle offering up other women to Dean until he made it clear he wasn't there for himself. They struck a bargain for the women entertaining Alfred, and all the while, Dean grew more irritable as he watched Sam at the bar. 

"Captain, we have some dancing girls from--"

Done with Estelle, Dean strode away to the bar and noticed that both Sam and the prostitute had drinks. He knew Sam had to have been the one who bought them. "Finish your drink and let's get out of here," he said, his gaze piercing Sam's.

Sam scooped up the glass and downed its contents. "Sorry, Captain's orders," Sam said, relieved, setting the glass on the bar and quickly striding to Dean's side and taking the lead. The doorman opened the door for them and Sam hurried out into the street, then waited on Dean. "I swear he was an octopus in a former life," Sam said. "I thought the drink might keep at least one of his hands busy. Where are we headed now?"

"I swear I was about to offer to pay Estelle for the pleasure of breaking his hands," Dean answered through gritted teeth, putting his arm around Sam and pulling him close. Was he a jealous man? He'd not felt jealousy over a person before, but he had to admit he was possessive of his things. It might be one of the reasons he'd wanted his mother's jewelry, not for their value, but because she had been his 'only family' and her things ought to be his.

"That could have been awkward." Sam smiled and put his arm around Dean's waist. "I assumed you didn't want it known you and I were together. If you don't want it known here," he waved toward the port town down the hill, "that's okay. I understand. I've spent my entire life hiding my affections. I haven't been certain how you would feel about me being affectionate in public to you so I've kept my hands and my lips to myself." He tilted his head and waited to see what Dean had to say about it. 

Right there in the middle of the street, Dean pulled Sam into his arms and crushed his mouth over Sam's. His hands roved over Sam's back, molding him closer, possessive and unapologetic. Weaving his tongue in and out of Sam's mouth, igniting the heat that had been building between them from before they'd even reached their destination, he kissed him until he was completely out of breath. Releasing Sam, and steadying him, he asked, "Does that answer your question?" Rough as he'd been, his knuckles now grazed the side of Sam's face as he ignored everyone else and focused only on Sam.

"Yes," Sam whispered, staring into those jade eyes and feeling something twist inside of him. He was falling for this man, he felt it in every fiber on his body. He pulled Dean back into another kiss, his arms tight around him, pulling him so close he could feel every seam of Dean's clothing. He kissed him like there was no tomorrow, no yesterday, nothing but him and Dean. When he finally had to break their kiss it was with reluctance and he held Dean in his arms and stared down at him. "You, sir, are a very dangerous man," Sam rasped. 

"I'm beginning to think the same about you." Leaning in, Dean kissed Sam once more, then pulled away and put his arm around his waist and started walking downhill, an uncharacteristically wide grin splitting his face.

"We have three hours before we get back to see if Alfred is staying or wants to leave. You wanted to see the market. There's also a nice bathhouse nearby," he looked over at Sam. "Large vats of steaming hot water. Big enough for two."

Breaking into a grin of his own, Sam kept perfect pace with Dean as they headed down the cobbled street. He chuckled and gave Dean's ass a quick squeeze. "Somehow I suspect we won't get much bathing done." He sighed at the idea of taking a bath. A real bath, not a sponge bath. "Bath house is definitely our next stop," he declared. "Lead the way, your majesty!"

Laughing, Dean swept Sam through the crowd. Occasionally, they stopped to watch street dancers and other performers. A group of jugglers told them to be sure to visit the main plaza for a show they would never forget, then an argument broke out as to which group of performers was best. Dean all but shoved Sam away from the fistfight and then stopped to buy them some drinks. They waited at a stand while the seller chopped the top off two coconuts and liberally added rum into the natural container, as well as some sweet nectar. Dean passed one of the drinks to Sam. "Now these... these are dangerous."

Sam looked at the coconut, sniffed it, and then took a sip. His eyes lit up and he took a deeper drink. "I didn't think anything tasted better than you, but I think you've just met your match." He smacked his lips and took another sip. "Mmm, delicious. I could drink these all night long."

"Then I'll be sure to drink plenty of them and be doubly delicious when you drink me. And yes, I am jealous of a damned coconut." Knocking some of it back, Dean wiped his mouth then leaned in and stole a kiss. "Tastes better on you." From the corner of his eyes, he saw one of his crew members stop mid-stride and stand there. "Ali, keep standing there with your mouth open and you'll catch a fly," Dean said. "Dangerous and scandalous, you're a lot of things I never expected, Lord Winchester." As they walked off, he realized he was no longer bitter about losing his title to Sam.

"I am all of that and more," Sam said solemnly then made a face. "I think I like Doctor Sam, better." He took another drink. "You know, all of my life I never really felt like I fit in. I was happier mucking stalls with Gabriel than I ever was walking around the warehouses being little Lord Winchester. For the first time in my life, this feels right and I feel comfortable in my own skin." Looking at Dean he nodded. "And it's because of you. All of it. Thank you, for everything." He put his arm around Dean's waist and felt like the luckiest man in the world at the moment. 

This was definitely not an ending Dean had foreseen, with any sort of friendship developing between himself and his brother. The rest was even more complicated. Sexual relations with his brother? Aye, he knew it was madness and didn't need to see the looks Rufus had been giving him of late for that to be reinforced. In truth though, he didn't give a damn. There was no God, there was no judgment. He would take what this world grudgingly offered him, and then he'd be dead and it would be the end of it. Any other options were too painful to think about because they raised questions about why his life had turned out the way it had. In all honesty, the only guilt he felt was about the punishment he'd inflicted on Sam that first night, and the occasional thoughts about how he'd broken his promise to his mother.

Feeling Sam pull him a little closer, he looked over at him. "'Don't thank me,'" he said in all seriousness, but then smiled. "Whatever the reason, your transformation suits you." There was no trace of that selfish mean little boy who'd wrecked Dean's life twice over. He realized now that he hadn't glimpsed that boy in Sam at all. And then he realized something else, a plain truth that had been staring him in the face all along. Sam had been a boy, just a boy. All these years, he'd been holding him accountable for the momentary selfish actions of a child.

Swallowing, Dean ran his hand over Sam's face. "You could use a nice shave. Shave and bath, come on." Lengthening his strides, he lead the way through a narrow street to the cleanest bathhouse in town.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by Strawberrynvanilla

While a bath was drawn for them upstairs, Dean and Sam sat in the barber shop on the noisy street level. An old one-armed sailor had cut Dean's hair a bit and was now wielding his sharp blade over his face, expertly giving him a close shave and telling tales of his life at sea. For Sam's benefit, Dean asked him which notable pirates and rogues were in town and the man was more than happy to tell them.

Sam listened raptly to the barber's tales. He wasn't sure he could imagine spending his entire life at sea, but he did enjoy working on the ship. He laughed at the thought of being a pirate for the rest of his days, but it was a more attractive option than marrying a woman he felt nothing for, especially considering his growing feelings for Dean. He knew Dean had secrets, knew the Winchester line and the Pirate King had some sort of entangled lineage, but if it were wrong, why would God have brought them together? Whatever wrong he had visited on Dean, he hoped he had amended for, and it seemed Dean had forgiven him for it. He wished Dean would put aside the ransom and just let him stay on board. Or better yet, drop him off at a port of Sam's choosing where Sam could get the schooling he needed, then he would come back to Dean and the ship as a useful crew member and doctor...and lover. He reminded himself as he listened to the tales that truly, he barely knew the captain, but he wanted to get to know him a lot better. He wanted to soothe away his anger and see him laugh and smile as he had these past few days. 

After finishing with Dean, the barber turned to Sam. Sam's hair had been recently tended in preparation for meeting his future wife, so Sam only got a shave. That done, the pair headed upstairs to the bath that had been readied for them. As soon as the door shut, Sam stepped up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling at his neck while his hands busied themselves unfastening Dean's trousers.

Raising his arm, Dean managed to cup Sam's head and pull him closer for a kiss. "Mmm, you smell prettier than Estelle's girls, and that's before your bath."  
Sam nipped Dean's neck. "You just like the smell of rum and coconut," he said, getting Dean's pants open and sliding his hand down inside, stroking slowly over Dean’s cock. Pulling Dean's shirt free, he slid his hand up under the shirt and straight to Dean's nipple which he rubbed and pinched.

"On you, I do." Leaning back, Dean felt his stomach tense as Sam's warm palm moved over him. Blood surged to his cock, hardening in Sam's hand and causing Dean to moan softly. "Let me taste you again," he turned and rubbed his mouth against Sam's, his eyes closing at the rush of heat flooding through his system. Licking the seam of Sam's lips, he pushed his tongue inside, tangling it with Sam's and thrusting lightly into Sam's hand.

Answering Dean's moan with one of his own, Sam felt his own cock harden as Dean's ass rubbed against his groin. Sam lengthened his strokes, reaching deeper so he touched Dean's balls with each stroke, running his fingers over them lightly. Sliding his hand over the pre-cum pearling at Dean's tip, he spread it down Dean's hardening member. He pulled Dean tighter against him as their tongues waged war with one another, then Sam stopped fighting with Dean's tongue and instead sucked on it, imagining it was Dean's cock in his mouth.  
A deep groan erupted from Dean's throat. Breaking the kiss, he turned around in Sam's arms, his gaze dropping to Sam's cock straining against his trousers. It was hard to believe he'd allowed Sam to hold him from behind, and to grind against him. He'd liked it though and hadn't felt threatened, which was odd, but many things about being with Sam were ... well they didn't hold up with his prior experiences somehow. 

He started undoing Sam's shirt. "Want you naked."

"I want you to fuck my mouth," Sam said, letting Dean help him get his shirt off. He gripped Dean's pants and pulled them down as he went down to his knees in front of Dean, licking his lips as he stared at Dean's dripping cock. Leaning in, he licked up the underside of Dean's member, then sucked lightly on its tip, groaning as he tasted the salty cum of his lover. Sucking Dean's cock all the way into his mouth, he adjusted his height and angle until he was deep-throating Dean. Gripping Dean's hips firmly, he began to slide his mouth up and down on Dean's cock, sucking hard every time he nearly pulled off before easing pressure and taking Dean all the way back in.

When his cock brushed against the contours of Sam's lips before Sam took him inside, Dean felt his knees weaken and gripped Sam's shoulders. Sunlight from a high window above their heads bathed them in an otherwise dark room. Watching his cock disappear into Sam's mouth, feeling the wet heat close around him, the suction giving him light torturous pressure, Dean was riveted. There was nothing and no one, no past and no future, just the two of them, in this moment. Suspicions about Sam's motives had fallen by the wayside and he saw clearly now, they were just two men who'd gotten wrapped up in each other. Sam didn't want anything from him, this was his gift, this was an expression of what they'd found in each other.  
As Sam's mouth wrapped tighter around him, Dean threw his head back and groaned. His knees banged into Sam's muscular frame, reminding him of how strong his brother was, how strong and yet gentle. "Sam... Oh God, you have to stop," he muttered, moving too quickly toward the edge.

Sam's gaze traveled up Dean's body, his fingers unbuttoning Dean's shirt to expose his chest. He pulled off, but kept teasing Dean's tip in between words. "Too much? Or I," he toyed with Dean's slit, " could just kneel here and you could fuck," Sam sucked on Dean's crown, "my mouth." 

"Fuck..." Dean found himself thrusting into Sam's mouth, unable to prevent himself. His eyes rolled back as Sam's palm ghosted over his flesh, instantly causing every muscle in his body to tense. "Ngh... too good. I... " Gripping Sam's shoulder, he started to fuck his mouth, thrusting hard and fast a few times, getting what he needed. "Want to touch you. Kiss you. Want it to be for both of us," he said, knowing he probably wasn't making sense.

Sam felt his heart flutter a little. He realized Dean didn’t really understand how what Sam was doing wasn't one-sided in Sam's mind. To hear the sounds he extracted from Dean, to know how much Dean was enjoying it, and not just because it was a blow job, but because it was Sam giving it to him, it all meant something to Sam. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Sam kept his hand on Dean's cock, stroking it as he met Dean's eyes. "I enjoy doing it for you. It's for me as well. I love the sounds you make, the way I drive you to abandon. I like tasting you, swallowing you, drinking you. I want you to fuck my mouth, then I want to touch and kiss you all over, rub against you, as I slowly get hard, then you bring me off the way you most enjoy. I want to make love to you, not just have sex." Placing his hand on the side of Dean's face he smiled, "You're _not_ using me, Dean." 

Turning his head slightly, Dean kissed Sam's palm. "Love, not sex. Maybe you _have_ taught an old sea dog a new trick." Leaning in, he brushed his mouth lightly against Sam's, pulled back in time to catch a maddening glimpse of his pink tongue coming out to play, then leaned in and sucked Sam's tongue into his mouth. Twisting his own around Sam's, he made love to it, slowly, deliberately. He wasn't skilled in the art of making love, it was always something to get over with as quickly as he could, but he knew how to kiss, and he could give Sam that.  
His hands moved between them, running over Sam's chest and moving lower, over skin stretched tauht over muscle. He touched Sam's belt, tugged on it to bring him closer as they kissed, and then started to unfasten it. 

Surprised Dean didn't have Sam go back down, Sam groaned when Dean sucked his tongue into his mouth. He loved the way Dean kissed, the way he seemed to put everything into it. Gabriel had liked kissing, but preferred to get right to the love making because they never knew how long they had. With Dean, it was almost the opposite. Dean seemed much surer of himself when kissing, than when having sex. It made sense if Dean had been taken advantage of. While Dean worked on his pants, Sam worked on getting Dean's shirt off of him, wanting to see that gleaming flesh, to run his hands and mouth over Dean's nipples. "I have all sorts of tricks I'd like to teach you," Sam said when they broke off from kissing long enough to catch their breath.

"I'll bet you do," Dean panted, dropping his shirt to the ground and leaning in to kiss his way down Sam's neck. He licked and nipped Sam's chest, playing with his nipple for a while as he pressed his palm rhythmically against his trousers, over his cock. As he felt Sam harden under his hand, he moaned and walked behind Sam, his hands exploring Sam's chest as he used his mouth to explore Sam's back. Slowly, he sank to the ground, onto his knees and pushed Sam's trousers down. "Off," he said gruffly, helping the man remove his boots and then slipping the trousers completely off.

Wrapping his arms around Sam's powerful thighs, he kissed his lover back, and made his way down to his perfectly formed ass, nipping him once then licking the same spot. "Never thought a man could be so... beautiful," he said, pulling back to look at Sam's body washed by golden sunlight. "Want to give you something you give me, but different." It would be easier on Dean, but he wasn't sure how much Sam would like it. "You can tell me to stop if... you know..." Giving a shrug, he dipped his head down between Sam's legs from behind and started to lick his balls as he moved one hand around Sam's body and started to stroke Sam's cock.

Sam wasn't quite certain what Dean had in mind, but thought it was likely Dean was going to start preparing his hole for penetration. His knees nearly gave as he suddenly felt Dean's tongue on his balls and his hand on his cock and he let out with a cry. "By all that's holy," Sam moaned, his hips not sure which way to move with the dueling touches. "It's good...don't...stop," Sam panted, feeling the blood rush to further fill his thickening cock. "Maybe you'll be showing me some tricks," he added as he let his head fall back, enjoying everything Dean was doing to him. 

"Reverse blow job. I can do this," he whispered against Sam's balls, before sucking a ball into his mouth. The shudder that passed through Sam encouraged him to continue. He stroked his calloused hand firmly along Sam's shaft, taking cues from the slight thrusts of Sam's hips that didn't bother him from this angle. Sucking off his ball with a loud, wet pop, his took Sam's other ball into the wet heat of his mouth, rolling the flat of his tongue over it, reveling in how tight Sam's skin was getting.

"Ngh...You don't have to do anything...you don't want," Sam said, but hoped Dean wouldn't stop. He was a little concerned when he came that he might trap Dean's head between his legs, but he would try to be careful. He hated that he couldn't touch Dean from this position and finally put his hand over the hand Dean was using to stroke him. He slipped his fingers in between Dean's. The determined attentions from his lover was bringing him as quickly to the edge as he had brought Dean. "So good, so good, Dean," Sam chanted as he thrust his hips. 

The sounds from Sam wound Dean up tighter on the inside, but he experienced a thrill he hadn't had before. Each time he'd tried to take Sam in his mouth, give him the same attention that Sam consistently gave him, it had taken a lot out of him. He had to talk himself into it, make sure he kept his mind in the present, and worried about Sam thrusting even when Sam had proved over and over that he wouldn't. But like this... Sam could thrust to his heart’s content and Dean thought Sam might be getting the same pleasure he'd get out of Dean's mouth around him. At least he hoped so.  
Liking the way their fingers were joined, he moved his other palm up Sam's abs, then sought Sam's other hand out, threading his fingers with Sam's. Mouthing Sam's balls, Dean moved both their hands over Sam's cock, faster, harder, bringing his brother closer to the edge. His other hand joined with Sam's moved over Sam's body. Somehow he felt close, like they were united, like he was inside Sam and couldn't get any closer.

It was an odd feeling, Sam thought, as if he were masturbating, yet he had no control over where his hands moved, letting Dean control everything. Sam sank into the pleasure of their joined touches and caresses and simply let himself go. Moans spilled from his lips, Dean's name mixed among the other less intelligible sounds. His hips moved faster and faster. "Ungh, coming," Sam said simply, gasping as he felt Dean's mouth suck hard on his balls. Cum spewed from him in thick jets as his cries of pleasure echoed around the room.

Dean smiled around Sam's balls as he felt his hot cum gush past his fingers and knew Sam hadn't had to hold back for him, not at all. He kept sucking until Sam's hips stopped moving, then he pulled off and slowly walked on his knees in front of Sam, dipped his head and started to lick Sam's cock and their fingers clean. There was no fear, only elation at having made Sam come so hard. Slowly, he kissed his way up Sam's body, closed his arms around him and pulled him up hard against his frame. "Love. That was making love," he said huskily, bringing his mouth over Sam's and kissing him with every unexpected emotion that filled his heart.

Sam wanted to protest it wasn't, but with the feelings Dean had brought out in him, he found the argument evaporating, especially as Dean kissed him. He kissed Dean back with as much passion, feeling things he didn't think he would ever feel again. It was ridiculous to think he could be falling for the captain. He barely knew the man and of secrets, the man had a hundred-fold. Yet he felt a little giddy as their tongues tangled, and possessive, refusing to think of Dean with anyone other than himself. How would it be to be a pirate, to sleep in this man's bed every night, to make love to him whenever the free moment came to them both. He had never considered the life of a sailor. He liked real baths, and no rationing of food or water. He liked to ride horses and to visit the town and watch people. Being on a boat with the same crew day in and day out? Silly, he chastised himself. He was a captive, ransom, and would be traded soon enough for coin. That thought nearly broke his heart and he pulled Dean closer, kissed him more fervently, and rubbed against the hard cock he felt pressed against him. Only a few days left with this man who was slowly stealing his heart as surely as he stole gold and goods from passing ships. 

A deep moan broke out of Dean as Sam gave him the pressure he needed, rubbing his body, damp from sweat and the steam rising from the large barrel tub, against Dean's aching cock. Their kissing got rougher as Dean rubbed back, fucking against Sam's body, branding it as his with every thrust of his hips, every grip of his hands roaming Sam's body, and every soul-deep moan that erupted from him. Like a man possessed, he gave and he took, walking Sam backwards toward the tub, and with each step, coming closer to release. "Don't know what to do with you. Don't know what to think," he muttered, unable to guard his thoughts as heat rose within him. Gripping Sam's ass, he dragged him close, leaving absolutely no space between them as he relentlessly ground against him, marching toward his release. "Ungh... yeah... Sam!" The guttural cry tore from him as they both banged against the tub.  
"Keep me," Sam whispered, maybe even begged as he felt the edge of the wooden bath press against his body on one side as Dean pressed against him from the other. His fingers dug into Dean's back and he wouldn't be surprised if he left bruises there. Dean's thrusting reached new heights as Sam was trapped there, but Sam didn't mind, giving Dean everything he wanted and needed. "Come for me, Dean, come for me!" Sam demanded. 

"Keep you. Mine. _Mine_ ," Dean repeated softly, his orgasm tearing through every fiber of his being. "Yes," he shouted, releasing against Sam full force, ropes of cum leaving him and dripping down Sam's leg as Dean continued to grind against him, his eyes seeking Sam's for the truth.

"Yours," Sam confirmed breathlessly as he felt the wet heat between them. He stared back into Dean's eyes, wanting what Dean said to be the true. He ran his fingers through Dean's damp hair, silent, drinking in how Dean looked and felt, how he felt in Dean's arms. "We're both mad," he murmured before kissing Dean long and slow, his hands mapping out every inch of Dean's body. 

"Crazed," Dean agreed, running a shaky hand through Sam's hair as they kissed. A sense of peace settled inside him. An idea had taken hold earlier and inspired his story to Estelle that Sam was a recruit. Now, the idea seemed more viable. Sam might contemplate joining his pirate crew after the exchange was made and the crew of his father's merchant ship was offered the customary chance to work for fair wages aboard the Vengeance. "Water's getting cold," he whispered, swaying closer as Sam's fingers skittered over his back and ass. Kissing him once more, he took Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze, nodding toward the steps next to the tub.

Once Sam climbed up and sat down on the bench that ringed the inside of the wide barrel tub, Dean joined him, sitting across from him. There was a long silence, with only their eyes exchanging messages. He gave a brief smile and dipped his face and head into the water then sat back, wiping at the water running down his face. His knee knocked against Sam's and he trapped one of Sam's legs between his. "Did you mean it? Or was it just a cry of passion," he asked, holding his breath.

"Which part?" Sam asked then gave a small smile and looked down into the water. "That I'm yours? Or asking you to keep me?" A muscle in his jaw flexed. "You've many secrets, and I fear what some of them may be, what they may mean to you, to me." He looked up. "If you asked me to stay, I would need...some time. I've never imagined a life as a sailor," he gave a small chuckle, "and certainly not as a pirate. I don't want to say 'yes' and then break both of us if I found I couldn't be one. I would need to wrap my mind around the idea, try it on a bit for size and make sure that I would be happy. Am I'm yours?" Sam reached out and took Dean's hand, interlacing their fingers. "It seems the more that I am with you, the more I lose parts of myself to you. You make me feel as I have not felt since before I lost Gabriel, and I never thought I could feel that way again. I wasn't sure I could ever feel anything again. But I do. I don't know if those are the answers you want to hear, but those are the answers my heart can give for now. And what of you? What am I to you, Dean? And what do you want me to be or long for me to be?"  
Dean wasn't sure it was all of what he wanted to hear either, but Sam had the courage to give him the truth, and Dean would do the same. "I want you to stay with me," he said, squeezing Sam's hand. I want you to choose me. Over your father. Over your station. Over everything, I want you to choose to be recruited after the ransom is paid." A muscle throbbed in his jaw. "Put me above all else and by G... I promise you, I will do the same," he said, his gaze bright and intense, willing Sam to do as he wanted. "If it's courting you want, we only have a few days."  
"My station means nothing to me. Certainly I like not having to cook, or clean, or draw my own bathwater, but it's all of little consequence. I despise the balls, the endless nattering of politics and gossip. I don't want it, any of it. My father, he killed my lover, has beaten me countless times, and has little loyalty from me except that which he has forced with threats. God says one must forgive, so I try, no matter his sins. I do not wish him to die in the gutter of the cold or consumption, but I wish that fate on no man. Choosing you over either of those is easy. Choosing a life at sea...I have never been given a chance to choose anything. You ask me to give up the only dream I have ever had, of going to school, of learning to be a proper physician, of helping people who need it, who cannot afford such. I...I cannot say yes, but neither am I ready to say no. And I would insist that you not put me above the welfare of your crew for they have faith in you and no love of one should blind you to the duty of the many. Your love would be enough, and that you listen to my counsel if I felt I had something worthy to contribute." Sam ran a wet hand down the side of Dean's face. "So court me Lover, help me to decide that which will forever change my life in one fashion or another, for now I am like a woman who does not know her mind and wants it all, when that cannot be."

Dean kissed Sam's hand but shook his head. "Every woman I've known has been headstrong and has known what she wants. Sam, you're like a ... a child, who doesn't realize there is a world beyond what he's been told about, and hasn't yet learned that where there's a will, there is a way. You thought you could not escape your father, but there are a hundred ways you could have and still can. You want learning? Think beyond the walls of a school. Can you not acquire knowledge anywhere, even on the high seas? I'm not asking you to give up your dreams, only to give up your past, one you claim not to want." He stood up suddenly, and leaned over the edge of the barrel to get the wash cloth and sweetly scented soap. "Let me wash you, let me show you what you could gain," he said, vowing to do his best to court Sam . "Freedom. Comfort. Danger," he shrugged at the admission. "Friends and family who would die for you. Me."  
Giving Sam a slow, lingering kiss, he started to scrub Sam's neck and chest, covering every inch of him and pulling on him to stand when he reached the water line. His thumb ran over Sam's scars, some ancient, some new. In silence, he wished he could take away the new ones, and exact revenge for the old ones.

Dean's words were intoxicating, but not all truth, for he knew that a doctor required more book learning than Dean realized. Though he had learned a great deal in the short time with the doctor aboard ship. Perhaps he could apprentice to one and learn. With money, he could buy the books he needed to learn even more. Maybe...maybe he could become a doctor without going to the university. Was a library and classrooms and sheepskin worth giving up Dean? Freedom...aboard ship he could do as he pleased, but he would be forced to go where the ship went, but as a doctor, he would eventually settle down somewhere. Would it not be better to settle on something that forever moved from one new place to another? Comfort...Dean's cabin was nice, certainly he need little in that regard. Danger...there was danger no matter where one was, though perhaps this was more extreme than many places. Friends and family. That was a sweet dream, one that he liked, for family is not something a sodomite easily gained. And Dean.  
Closing his eyes, he enjoyed Dean's kiss and the way Dean's soapy hands ran over him. He had been washed by servants and he and Gabriel had bathed in the lake together, but this was...wonderful. He felt Dean's touch linger on his scars and ran his own hands over Dean's. "It's in the past. Let that which happened to bring these marks stay in the past," Sam said softly.

"Past, yes. No more wounds," Dean answered, dipping the wash cloth into the water, squeezing the soap out and using it to pour water over Sam's chest to wash away the suds. Stepping behind Sam, he started to wash his neck and broad back, occasionally rubbing his mouth over a place he'd cleaned free of suds. As he moved lower, he started to linger once again over Sam's injuries, the stitches he'd sewn himself. Swallowing, trying to push the past into the past, just as Sam had suggested, he asked Sam to kneel on the bench so more of his body was exposed. He'd never washed another person in his life, but he washed Sam with all the love and care he'd seen when his own... their mother washed Sam. It didn't escape him that the thought was obscene, but he didn't deny its existence.  
Once he had Sam sitting down on the bench, he washed him from his knees to the soles of his feet, surprising himself when he kissed Sam's instep before allowing his foot to drop back into the water. Putting the washcloth down, he lathered the soap over his hands then started to rub the suds into Sam's hair, his eyes locking with Sam's. "You're as flushed as when I take you in bed," he whispered. 

"You're touch is as sensual as when you take me in bed," Sam said, unable to resist reaching out and running his hands over his lover. "You...you are not toying with my affections, you really care about me and wish me to stay with you, to be your lover for the rest of our days? What anger you had toward me in the beginning, you have forgiven me for it and it will not haunt our future, yes? I...I believe you when you say you would put me above all others, but...love can be fragile and scary, and my heart, if you still wished to destroy me and break me, you would succeed if this has all been nothing more than a ruse. It would bring me to ruin like nothing else could."

Dean looked away for a moment, concentrating on lathering Sam's hair. "What I'm offering... matelotage, as good as any contract of marriage. As for the past, let it stay where it belongs, in the past." A muscle in his jaw throbbed. "I've forgiven you. Both for things that weren't your fault, and for those that," he nodded, "might have been. But you were young. Younger than Alfred, you... it doesn't matter. The past is the past and cannot be changed." Reaching for the bowl next to the bath, he filled it with water and started to pour it over Sam's head, momentarily happy Sam couldn't answer him.

 _Matelotage. A husband, a lover, a friend...family._ Sam wanted it, he couldn't deny it. It made his heart thump hard in his chest and he wanted to say yes but...no, he had to be certain. He would not say yea only to discover a pirate's life was not something he could live with no matter his feelings for Dean. _You speak logic when logic has nothing to do with it,_ Rufus scolded him. Where did logic and love meet? Did they ever meet?

After the water had drained away, he blew out a breath and wiped the water from his eyes then turned his eyes on Dean. "Part...part of a proper courting would be a ring. Something that represents you, that represents how you feel, that when I look at it, it reminds me of you. It matters not if it is copper or iron, silver or gold, ivory or even wood, shell, or coconut rind. Riches mean nothing to me. It only matters that it is sincere, whatever you choose."

There was a long silence. The hot water lapped against Dean's chest, the steam rising around both of them. His gaze was locked with Sam's, burning as brightly and intensely as they would when he was in the heat of battle. He took a step forward, his body colliding against Sam's, then pushing him back, up against the edge of the tub. Stepping between Sam's legs, he put his hand behind Sam's neck, cradling it as he leaned in and forced him to bow back over the edge. He brushed his mouth over Sam's soft, wet lips, sucking his lower lip for a heartbeat. "Is that a 'yes?'" he asked, in a thick raspy voice, lowering his mouth and kissing his way down Sam's throat, nuzzling it. "Hmm? Or is that a maybe? Or does your answer depend on my ring?" He continued to kiss Sam between his questions, paying extra attention to his nipple that had tightened into a bud. "Don't make me wait. Answer me."

Sam moaned softly at Dean's attentions, feeling heat begin to coil inside him. "The ring could be string or a braided lock of hair. It is the symbol, not the ring itself that I value and my answer will not depend on the ring." He felt like clay in Dean's hands, clay that the man could mold anyway he chose. "I want it, to be married to you. I want you, but I told you, I must be sure that a pirate's life is one that suits me...and there is much we do not know of each other. I am rebellious, you are demanding. I do not wish to say yes and then find while we may care for one another, we are black powder and fire. I must...I must think on this. When we return to sea, you must let me act as one of the crew, as if I have said yes. I cannot merely be the Captain's wench. I do not want to lie to you and I am unsure and scared. We have yet a few days. To give you an answer now would be folly. Know that I am...very inclined...to say yes but you must wait for my answer."

"So these are hoops. You want me to jump through them, and yet you make no promises." Dean's gaze narrowed as he turned Sam's words over in his mind. They weren't what he'd wanted to hear.  
"They aren't meant to be," Sam said. "Or perhaps, they are hoops _I_ must jump through, to be sure of myself in the role you propose."

Swooping down, Dean laid trails of hot angry kisses across Sam's chest, showing him what the future could offer. He didn't stop, not until he felt Sam responding, moving against him, thrashing as he got worked up. Raising his head, he stared into Sam's eyes, his own expression serious and without any hint of a smile. "I'll think on the ring." Thrusting, he rubbed his cock against Sam, then lifted him slightly and thrust again, this time moaning as his crown rubbed against Sam's hole. "But don't lie to me. Don't say you're mine, when you don't mean it," he thrust again, biting his lower lip as his cock lodged at Sam's entrance. "What is mine, stays mine. You remember that."  
Lowering his head, Dean kissed Sam as he slowly pushed inside him. Sam's heartbeats seemed to slam against his own chest, or maybe it was his own heart that was beating that hard. All he knew was he wanted this. He wanted Sam to want it as badly as he did. "Fuck..." He drove his aching cock slowly inside Sam, until he was buried to the hilt. "One thing else. If you were the water to my fire, I wouldn't want you." Driving deeper into Sam and squeezing his eyes shut at the agonizing pleasure and pain that washing over him, he fought for air. "You're the tinder that lights my fire... it's how I want it." His voice got low and rough and he started to thrust, still cradling Sam's neck and head, fucking him both gentle and rough.

The captain seemed to know how to work him, how to drive him to madness when but a few days ago, the captain seemed unskilled and unsure. Something had changed in Dean. At the same time he realized that he was not entirely himself for he knew he was still the captain's captive. He wasn't sure if he was holding himself back from acting as he would were he free. That, perhaps more than anything colored his answers to Dean. 

When Dean suddenly found his pleasure spot, a loud cry escaped him as the feelings washed through him and he shuddered, clenching in response. He wrapped his arm around Dean's neck and pulled Dean down so he could crush his lips against his lover's. He felt like he belonged to Dean and he liked that feeling very, very much. He kissed Dean more possessively than he had ever kissed anyone.

Sam's response, the way he was squeezing him, the way he was kissing him back with the desperation of a man who wanted to hold on and not to let go, inflamed Dean. Each heated kiss, each wanton groan, each hard push, sent ripples of heat flowing through Dean's veins like molten lava. The urge to finish, to fuck Sam until he was sated, erupted within him. Once, he would have listened to the urge. Now he controlled it, forcing himself to fuck Sam with slow, hard thrusts aimed at giving him pleasure, shifting and angling his hips, making sure he provoked Sam's involuntary groans and shudders over and over again.

As he mindlessly thrust into Sam, he pulled his mouth away and spoke against his ear. "You set fire to my body. You bring my soul alive. You are my first... my last," he vowed, knowing it was true, that the light that Sam had brought into his life could well be taken away with a single word from Sam, and he had no hope of regaining it elsewhere.

Sam could barely think as Dean pounded into him again and again, each time sending shockwaves through him that made him groan with pleasure. He heard Dean's words and when his brain finally processed them he wanted Dean to take them back. If he couldn't stay with Dean, he didn't want Dean to never look for another lover, but at the same time a part of him whispered triumphantly _Mine!_. 

"You are like no other I have ever been with," Sam gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as the pleasure was crossing into pain. "Take me in your hand, bring me to completion," he begged, his legs wrapping around Dean. He used the leverage to lift up and thrust harder and harder against Dean as water splashed over the edges of the tub.

"Ungh!" Dean's head snapped back, another loud groan leaving him as Sam's demand brought him to the very edge. Gasping in the hot, moist air, taking a large lungful of it, he leaned in again, eyes locking with Sam's as he closed his hand around Sam's cock. Slow and easy, the way Sam liked it, he told himself, but it was impossible. The way Sam writhed, the way he clenched and pulled Dean deeper into his tight sheath, the way he bucked against him, was Dean's undoing. Fire streaked through him as he started to pump in and out of Sam, his hand moving along Sam's length at the same furious rhythm. Tension coiled tighter and tighter within him. He cursed, then started to grunt as he strained to get impossibly deeper. "You will remember me. Every time you bathe." His fingers dug into Sam's shoulders as he imagined Sam leaving him. "Every time," he vowed, capturing Sam's mouth with his own, branding him with his mouth, with his body, and with his soul.  
When Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's seeping and swollen cock, Sam nearly lost his seed then. It was perfect the way they moved together, moving as if they knew exactly how to give the other the maximum pleasure. He knew Dean was right, even if he went away, if he ever found another, a part of him would always be _here_ in this place with Dean, whenever he was bathing. He would always remember the gentle way Dean had washed him, had proposed to him, had taken him, body and soul. This would always be Dean's.

Sam's body gave a sudden shudder as he arched, pulling Dean in deep as his balls drew up. He moaned into Dean's mouth as hot liquid spread between them, as everything in him screamed in pleasurable agony and he dug his nails into Dean's back. 

Dean felt Sam's body tighten around him, felt the bruising strength of his fingers and started to see white flashes behind his eyelids. "Yes," he ground out, driving into Sam one last time and arching back. The tension in his stomach uncoiled suddenly, unleashing an almost painful tidal wave of sensations through him. He whispered an oath, then shouted out Sam's name, pumping into him fast and hard, grunting as he rode the waves of his orgasm, and collapsed against Sam. His mouth sought Sam's. Slipped along it, and sought it again. "Mark this day. Never forget." He panted heavily. "Never."

Sam held Dean close against him, all his limbs wrapped around his lover, his own chest heaving for breath. "Never," Sam vowed, kissing Dean gently on the lips, the side of his mouth, his cheek. He rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, loving just holding him there, keeping him in his arms. All he had to do was say 'yes' and this would be his, forever. Dean had already sworn that he was Sam's forever. Sam felt his eyes sting and suddenly there were tears on his cheeks. Here was someone who loved him, treasured him even, and the way he felt inside, it was just like it had been with Gabriel. The thought of losing Dean, of seeing Dean as the bloodied heap that he had seen his beloved Gabriel as was more painful than he could express. He clung to Dean tightly as the tears tracked down his face, to drip down onto Dean's back.

Dean held fast for a while, a smile curling his lips when he realized Sam was holding him just as tightly and showed no sign of letting go. When he gently tried to pull away but was unable to, he cocked his head and eased his body away and searched Sam's face. "Surely I have improved just a little?" He brushed his thumb over Sam's lips. "You look like Madam Estelle's girls after ..."  
A tremulous smile touched Sam's lip and he laughed a little. "You were wonderful," Sam said thickly. "If they knew you now, there would be cat fights over who got your business." He wiped at his tears. "I'm sorry, this has nothing to do with you. I mean, it does but not in a bad way. I mean, oh hell..." he muttered pulling Dean close again and sniffling, holding onto him as if he were a lifeline.

Not knowing what else he could say that wouldn't be an order to simply say 'yes' and immediately resolve the doubts Sam was having and which Dean was convinced were mere flights of fancy, he held Sam once again, his arms like steel bands around his brother. When the silence stretched a bit too long, Dean sang softly. _What'll we do with the handsome sailor, what'll we do with the handsome sailor, what'll we do with the handsome sailor? Early in the mornin'. Put him in bed in the Captain's quarters, put him in bed in the Captain's quarters, put him in bed in the Captain's quarters... That's what we do with the handsome sailor."_  
Sam chuckled softly at Dean's song and sighed contentedly, finally easing his hold on Dean and letting his legs fall from being locked around Dean. Running his fingers through Dean's hair, he hummed the tune of the drunken sailor before finally saying. "That is a good ending to the song, so long as that sailor is me. Thank you. For holding me and trying to make me laugh, and for the good sex and...everything." He was quiet for a few minutes then said softly, "If I asked you to, would you...would you not collect the ransom? Just, sail away? I know Father will be there and I...I don't want to see him. I've some coin back at my home. I could have a servant collect it and bring it to me. It wouldn't come close to what you've asked for, but it would be something for the crew."

Dean stiffened and just barely prevented himself from flying into a rage. Had he not been grinding his teeth together, questions of loyalty, of Sam's true intent and feelings would have erupted from him before he had a chance to think on it and remember that Sam knew nothing of Dean's past, that his wishes made sense as a person wanting to stay rather than someone wanting to run. His jaw worked but no sound came from him. 

Licking his lips, Dean took a step back and looked directly into Sam's eyes. "I have waited two decades for this. _Nothing_ will prevent the exchange. Nothing," he repeated, his tone cracking with the finality of a whip. "I don't want your money. I don't want your things. I want to see the misery in Lord Winchester's eyes when I leave him sitting on a pile of ash and bills and ruin everything he's built and anything he cares about. You'll have the opportunity to do the same if you walk off his ship and onto mine that day, that part is up to you."  
"Without the Peden wealth he will be in ruins soon enough," Sam said with a shake of his head. "What if I said yes, right here, right now? You would still insist on this?" he asked. 

"You would say 'yes' in order to avoid seeing your father but not because you want this. Me?" Dean demanded. "You would offer yourself to me because of _fear_? It's not what I want of you." His nostrils flared as he stared Sam down.  
"I don't want you near my father because I do not want you in danger," Sam said, his eyes begging Dean to believe him. "I could not bear to lose you. He has a way of taking away all that I care about. I am not afraid of seeing my father, I don't _want_ to see him. I want him to be forgotten, left behind, part of the past. Tell another pirate captain of the wealth his ship carries and they can risk their lives and we can live ours. Together. You swore if I said yes, if I put you above my dreams of going to University, that you would put me above everything else. Put aside your hate of him. Forget him. He is nothing but a mean, strict, superstitious bastard." 

"No." Dean relaxed slightly, appeased by Sam's explanation. "Do not ask me for that which I cannot give. It is my destiny. My fate. Crafted after all these years by my hands, and I cannot... I will not set it aside. After," he nodded, "I swear to you, _after_ , there will be no more hate." Reaching for the sponge and soap, Dean started cleansing himself. "I have to fix what is broken. It's the only way."  
"What is broken?" Sam asked, taking the soapy sponge from Dean and beginning to wash him. "Can my doctoring skills, or _other_ skills not fix what is broken? My father is quite devious and clever. I fear he will not let you leave unaccosted with the ransom. Change your destiny, your fate, your path. If you crafted this path, then you can craft another one. I fear for you and the crew. If the exchange does not happen, he will always wonder after my fate, or I can be wicked and send him a letter that lets him know I have found a love and that _he_ is the most handsome captain on the seas. He would seethe for days, months, perhaps years over that. You can continue to harass and thieve from his ships, finishing the ruin of him that you have already put him on the path of." 

"You've done your fair share of fixing." Briefly, he closed his eyes as Sam gently ran the sponge over him in soothing motions. "You can't fix everything and you can't run from everything. Sometimes you have to look a man in the eyes before you're free of them," he said with conviction. "Shshsh... Samuel, this conversation is at an end."  
Sam gave a soft sigh and kissed Dean lightly. "As you wish. You must deal with your demons as you feel you should, but do not expect me to be happy about it nor stop worrying. I will not forgive you if you get yourself killed. And don't call me Samuel."

* * *  
At the bathing house, their clothes had been washed for them and dried in front of the many fires of the boiler room used to heat the bath waters. They'd gotten dressed and been fussed over for being unusually handsome. One of the wenches had been obsessed with Sam's straight white teeth and asked him to show them off the entire time they were preparing to leave. Dean had been shaking with silent laughter as he paid and left generous tips, and watched Sam very kindly try to comply with their wishes. Once they were outside, Sam dropped the wide grin and rubbed the corners of his mouth. Dean asked if Sam had just called him an ass because he was quite sure that was one of the words Sam had hurled at him for laughing and not helping.

They'd gone to a gambling establishment close to Casa Roja and drank and gamed to their heart's content. They'd both done quite well and were celebrating when Dean suddenly indicated they ought to leave. He'd felt like they were being watched and, though he couldn't pinpoint who it was doing the watching, he decided it was time to leave. Though he loved a good rumble as much as the next pirate, he wasn't in the mood for one in the middle of his courting. So they left to collect Alfred.

A very tired and bemused looking Alfred had greeted them, and whether the boy knew it or not, he had red lip prints all over his face. Dean managed to prevent Sam from telling the youth and went to settle the account with Madam Estelle. When they were outside, he'd asked for details until he got one he didn't like. 

"She said I lasted longer than you the first time, Captain." Alfred beamed proudly.  
"Right. Here's some coin, get yourself some food and grog, and don't get in trouble," Dean told the boy, effectively getting rid of him. One arm around Sam's waist, he took him to an area of taverns and outdoor food establishments where musicians, actors and dancers walked around and gave performances. 

They sat down and drank their wine and were served meat and potatoes and local vegetables. Dean pointed out the fire dancers that were coming closer, twirling batons that were on fire on both ends, and long ropes that were completely on fire and made beautiful designs in the dark as they were twirled and cracked on the ground to the beat of the drummers walking alongside.

"I've never seen anything like it," Sam said, watching with rapt attention. "It's brilliant!" he said, reaching over and taking Dean's hand, lightly gripping it while still watching the dancers. After a few minutes he realized they were out of wine. "I'll get us some more," he said, squeezing Dean's hand once and getting to his feet. He kissed Dean's cheek. "I'll be right back."

Sam started for the bar then saw a vendor across the street selling the coconut drinks. He grinned and headed over, staying alert though, remembering what it was like when they went to Gabriel's section of town. He protected his coin purse and watched attentively for trouble as he ordered two drinks. Seeing some men dressed in clothing that looked different from any he'd seen, he couldn't help his curiosity and asked them where they were from. When they told him Greece, his eyes widened. "I've read all about ancient Greece. Are all those fabulous monuments still standing?"

The sailors laughed and told him a few tales of their country. "You should visit, yes?" one the men encouraged in a thick accent. "Or come to work on ship. Good pay. Our women, prettier than any here."

Sam thought briefly what it would be like to see Greece and also thought that if he simply disappeared into the crowd, maybe onto the Greek ship, Dean would not go to meet his father, but knew whether Sam was present or not, Dean felt he had to face the man. "Maybe someday I will see your country, but for now...for now I want to stay where I am. It's a good ship, a good captain. But thank you." He raised one of the coconuts in a salute and hurried back to the tavern where their table was.

Dean searched Sam's face, his gaze flicking to the sailors he'd been talking to, then back to Sam's, but he didn't comment. "You didn't give the man all your winnings for these drinks, did you? He's smiling far too much," he said, bringing the cup to his mouth and swallowing down the sweet concoction.  
"No, I paid only a bit more than you paid for the ones you bought earlier, but I asked for the biggest coconuts he had, so expected them to cost a bit more. Those sailors," Sam pointed to the men he'd been talking to. "They're from Greece! Have you ever thought of taking your ship to the Mediterranean? There's so much history there! The Great Pyramids of Egypt, Rome and her aqueducts and Coliseum, Greece and the Palladium, and the Oracle. And Persia and...just so many things to see!"

"We find ourselves there a few times a year, to cash in treasure, make repairs and enjoy the food and drink. For the history?" He gave Sam a look. "You wish to study medicine and 'history' puts a certain..." he waved his hand, "light in your eyes, the sort a man might get at the thought of having a curvaceous woman or well-muscled man." Shaking his head, he chuckled. "I'm afraid you are one of those... that rare breed of pirate and scholar."  
Sam felt a blush color his cheeks. "Pirate and scholar. I never thought I'd hear myself described like that." Even though he was blushing at Dean's teasing, he felt his heart beat a little faster at the idea of seeing all those historic places. He hadn't thought the pirate ship went that far afield of its hunting grounds. "Have you seen the pyramids? Or Rome? Or any of those places? I never realized how wonderful it could be to have a ship of your own, to be able to go anywhere you want whenever you want." 

"I have a feeling I'm about to see all those things, whether I want to or not," Dean answered, chuckling. Of course he'd seen some of the wonders of the world, but he was one to seek drinking and gaming more than exploration, but he wasn't averse to changing his ways. "We'll have to make sure to get you some of those monocles and small telescopes favored by _sight-seers_ , and a sketchpad."

"A telescope? I could get a telescope?" Sam said excitedly. His father did not support any of his scholarly loves. Sam was supposed to be a businessman and ultimately, governor. "And an astrolabe and sextant? You can teach me how to navigate by the stars. I'm going to need several blank journals I think." He nodded. "Definitely one large enough to do some proper drawings of things." He leaned over and kissed Dean firmly. "And yes, I will be dragging to you see at least some of those things."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find ways to amuse myself with you while you amuse yourself with the sights," Dean said smugly, very well aware the conversation was proceeding as if Sam had already decided to stay with him. His gaze dropped to Sam's lips. "I'd follow you into the deepest, darkest, dankest catacombs, if you asked it of me." Sitting back, he took Sam's hand on the table. "You should eat up, you're going to need your energy. There'll be dancing."

Sam grinned. "I promise I won't ever let you get bored for long." Sam looked down at his food and began eating again. "Dancing like on the ship? I imagine I'll need energy for more than just dancing too," he said around a mouthful of vegetables. He washed it down with some of the coconut drink. "Because you are the most insatiable man I have ever met. Not that I'm complaining. Not at all."  
"No one's called me that before." Dean stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "Clearly you're the one to blame and are no less insatiable." Chewing a few times, he spoke with a full mouth and told Sam about the plaza off the wharf where there would be bonfires, drinking and carousing. They watched a few more acts going by and threw some coins when they were pleased by the entertainers. Seeing Sam frowning at his plate, Dean loaded his fork up with vegetables and shoved it all in Sam's mouth. "See? No waste," he said, laughing and ruffling Sam's hair with his other hand.  
"I'm actually an incubus and--," Sam started and ended up with a mouthful of vegetables. He glared at Dean and batted at his hand. Swallowing and almost choking on the half-chewed vegetables, he ruffled Dean's hair in retaliation. "Careful or you'll wake up in the morning in braids and pink ribbons. And you should eat your vegetables. They're good for you."

"You wouldn't dare," Dean said, sliding his hand down the back of his head to where his freshly cut hair barely skimmed his shoulders. He did know that braids and other people's hair could be worked into one's hair and now wondered if he'd have to watch out and be more vigilant when drunk. "My vegetables are just as good for you." Pulling his pouch out of his pocket, Dean counted out some coins and put them on the table. Draining his coconut drink, he suggested they get some pure rum, and stood up.  
The sinister smile Sam gave Dean told him quite clearly that he would dare then he scolded, "You'll end up with scurvy or something if you don't eat your vegetables. And I like these," he said holding up his coconut drink. "I can have plain rum anytime. I can't have these anytime. So you get rum. I'm going to get another of these. Maybe keep my eyes open for some pink ribbon too."

Dean slapped Sam's ass, enjoying the look of chagrin he earned, and let him go to the vendor while he went to speak to the proprietor of the eatery to secure a bottle of rum. Then he went and collected Sam who was once again deep in conversation with a man and woman who appeared to be dressed in the clothing of those from the Moroccan coast. He'd been right, and as they headed to the plaza, he was treated to a discussion of medicines available in other parts of the world. Nodding, he listened, loving the excitement he heard in Sam's voice.

(A/N: a lot of paras were missing from Ch. 1 - fixed now, but you might have missed it)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LINK TO SONG featured in this chapterr - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dysG12QCdTA
> 
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=fejtcn)

They entered the plaza where people were gathered in groups, some around fires burning in pits. It was too warm to stand near the fires but they did give a lot more light than the torches and occasional oil powered street lamp that could be found around the outsides of the plaza. There were many a soul, drinking and dancing, and some practically making love in public.

They stopped to watch some magic tricks which even Dean had to admit confounded the mind. "You should study the art of such trickery... it could come in handy if people feared me for my 'powers.'" Grinning, Dean pulled Sam along and then they joined a throng who had gathered next to a make-shift stage. The men on the stage wore clothes that were somewhat tattered and had seen better days, but were still identifiable as uniforms worn by the captain and crew of a the Royal Navy. Some riggings on the stage made it appear as if the group was on a ship.

Dean took a long swig of his rum and swayed toward Sam, watching how focused Sam was on the actors who'd started to sing and act out the story told in song.

 

Yo-ho, Sebastian  
Let's go far away  
Somewhere where the captain won't be mad.  
Yo-ho, Sebastian  
I want to love you good  
We deserve much better than we've had.

Sam watched the start of the show, his jaw falling open as it was quickly obvious it was about two sodomites in the Royal Navy who had been discovered to be lovers. He put his arm around Dean's waist, his gaze riveted to the stage, flinching as he saw the men 'beaten' by the others, and the lyrics told of the atrocities visited upon the two men.

Without even realizing it, Sam began whispering the prayer his father made him say when he was whipped .

Dean had been humming and moving to the beat of the music when he heard Sam whispering, his eyes half-closed as he watched. Pulling Sam closer, he put his finger over Sam's lips and whispered, "There's a happy end, and it's much better for pirates. Do you want to leave?" A look at the crowd quickly showed that a goodly part of the crowd were sodomites singing along, both rebelliously and in celebration.

Sam's eyes were filled with pain and stung with unshed tears. He stopped whispering his prayer when Dean touched his lips

The captain found out 'bout us,  
And ordered them to throw,  
Us both overboard tonight,  
Together we will go

But I'm yours you know  
And I'll love you still in hell 

Looking around, he saw how many of the couples were of the same sex, and how they swung their drinks in time to the music, or sang the lyrics to one another, touching each other's faces, or hands, or kissing. Confusion colored his own face as he looked at Dean. "How can it be a happy ending?" he asked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

I hope they didn't tie up  
your hands as tight as mine  
I'll see you on the bed of this  
Blue ocean sometime

Dean brushed the tears off Sam's cheeks and kept his palm on the side of his face. "If you're superstitious or afraid of ghosts, you won't like it. For everyone else..." He turned Sam's face toward the stage where the 'ghosts' of the couple or perhaps their immediately reincarnated selves re-boarded the ship and boldly kissed and made love in front of the crew.

"Yo ho Sebastian, I want to love you good..." Dean joined in with his rumbling voice, pulling Sam into his arms and swaying him with the music, kissing him, and then holding him again as they watched.

Sam stared at the 'happy couple' on stage and then turned to Dean. "Yes. The answer's yes."

"'Yes?'" Dean cocked his head, then it hit him like a loose sail in a heavy breeze. "Yes... Yes!" he shouted, taking his hat off and waving it in the air before pulling Sam close and kissing him as good and well as the actors had been kissing on the stage. He didn't stop until they were both out of air, and even then, he released Sam very reluctantly. "We'll get on well. I will give you anything in my power," he promised. "Anything. You're mine now... I won't let any harm come to you ever again," he vowed.

Sam pulled Dean back into a hug. "I don't need much. I mean, right now, I guess I will." He released Dean and stared into his eyes. "Let's sell most of my things. Get me proper clothes. My own doctor's pouch so I can assist the doctor you hire. A couple journals, quill and ink. Any books we can find on the medical arts and maybe some books to read. And coconuts. I want a barrel of those coconuts to take with us with a jug or two of the sweet nectar, if they will keep. ...And a ring. With a chain to put it on if I'm working and it could get caught on something. I'll get you a ring and chain, too. Is there an official ceremony, like a wedding?" he asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous. He hoped Dean was right, that they would get on well. If things didn't work out...they would deal with it then, he decided.

"You're running off at the mouth," Dean laughed, making Sam move with him, and putting his bottle to Sam's lips so he could take a swig of the rum. "I like your clothes. Yes on most everything else but we'll have to do it or have Alfred do your errands in the morning. Most shops and the better vendors are not open now. Dance with me, dance with me, Sam," he insisted.

"You make fun of my clothes," Sam countered.

As they moved through the crowd in unison, there was just the two of them. Dean explained matelotage involved drawing up a contract and giving each other half of their worldly possessions during life, and all in the case of death. If Sam wanted a celebration, they'd have one. As for rings, he wasn't rushing on selecting the one he was to give to Sam. Sam had been very clear while they were bathing it was to be special and he intended for that to be the case.

They ran into a few of the men from the Vengeance and talked and danced and drank, then moved away, watching various musicians and speaking about everything under the dark velvet skies above. Dean felt a prickle on the back of his neck and tuned to find a man watching him but the man quickly ducked behind other revelers. Although he chatted with Sam in a carefree manner as they walked, Dean's gaze swept the area around them, lingering on a few people he felt were too interested in him. His mind was a little hazy from drink but he was very experienced in keeping alert to danger, and it was definitely in the air. He could see that a loose circle was forming, one that would likely close up around him soon.

He slapped the rum bottle into Sam's hand and kissed him, then spoke against his ear. "I want you to shove me away, yell at me not to touch you again, and then walk away. Go to the wharf, make your way to the ship. If you see any of my men, send them to the plaza." His hand drifted to Sam's ass, and he gave it a squeeze. "This is an order Sam, you have no choice in this. I am your Captain and you will obey. I'll see you at the Vengeance," he said.

"I'm not leaving you and you are not my Captain, yet," Sam hissed back. With a loud yell, Sam announced, "They threaten my Sebastion! I beg assistance! Crew of the Vengeance, we need aid!" Sam placed his back to Dean and held at the ready the only weapon he had: the bottle of rum.

"Samuel! Sonova..." The decision taken from him, Dean pulled a dagger out of the sheath hanging from his belt and passed it over to Sam before pulling his sword out. "If you so much as get a scratch on you... twenty lashes," he called out. "Watch yourself." His back to Sam, he searched and spotted the first man to run toward him, weapon in hand.

"Have a little faith," Sam said, switching the bottle to his other hand and taking the dagger. As soon as he heard Dean engaging, he moved with him, protecting his back. Another man ran forward, his face twisted into a sneer, obviously amused Sam was going up against his cutlass with a mere dagger. Sam let the man come, making no move until the man raised his cutlass to strike. Sam blocked with the dagger, dropped the rum and grabbed the man by the belt, pulling him too close for the cutlass to be of use. He slipped his leg between the man's, shifted his leg to the side and shoved him hard. As the man fell backward, Sam grabbed and twisted his arm, causing the cutlass to fall clattering to the cobbled ground. Sam scooped it up and cut a deep gash across the man's sword arm in the process.

Another came at Sam. Sam blocked the swing of the cutlass with his own, thrust with his dagger, but the man jumped back. Their swords clashed again and again, Sam blocking with the dagger as easily and readily as he did the cutlass. The adrenalin pumped through him as he fought, knowing he was fighting for his life as well as his lover's and nothing had ever felt so right. This was where he was meant to be and he knew it with all his heart. The man he'd slashed earlier was getting up, ready to come at him, but someone grabbed the wounded attacker and whirled him away from the fight.

As Dean's blade repeatedly glanced off his attacker's blade, he was at all times aware that Sam was still standing, fighting. Reassured by the fact that his brother did know how to fight, and not just in the fancy-pants rule-driven way of nobles, he relaxed and concentrated on the opposition. Side-kicking a man running towards them, he went after the ruffian with a blade, his movements aggressive and sure, tight and geared to make their mark.

Others joined the fight. He saw familiar faces and asked what took them so long. As he cut down the man he was fighting, he felt someone shove him and started to curse Sam until he saw the tip of the blade that would have sank into his lower back but for Sam's timely push. "An extra portion of rum for you," he said, turning to watch Sam chase after the man who was bleeding but able to walk.

Sam narrowly avoided a deep slash across his face, but felt a thin sheet of blood run down his cheek as the tip just managed to scratch him. Infuriated with himself for letting the man almost get past his guard, Sam yelled and drove the man back with repeated, hard blows. He saw the fear enter the man's eyes. "Run. Now!" Sam snarled at him. When the man set his jaw and a determined look came to his face instead, Sam's eyes darkened. "Then die." With an almost classic set of moves, Sam cut the man down and turned back to the fight, his eyes searching for Dean.

"You're bleeding." Dean said the obvious but was interrupted by one of his men.

"We got one, Sir. Taking 'im to the Vengeance."

Dean gave a nod. "Turn him over to Rufus. I'll be along shortly." The bodies on the ground had already disappeared and the crowd was dissipating and going back to dancing and singing. Pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, he dabbed it on Sam's cheek, and let him take it. Meanwhile, one of the men clapped Sam on the back and told him he was a 'right good un.'

Sam gave a nod of thanks for the compliment. He couldn't believe how fast any signs of the fight had been cleared away. Looking at his bloody cutlass, he handed it to Dean. A man approached and slapped a bottle of rum into Sam's hand. "Fer yer Sebastion, since ye broke yers." The man touched his hat as he looked at Dean. "Sebastion," he said and wandered away.

Sam looked after the man who had begun to sing 'Yo-ho Sebastion' quite loudly. "Huh," Sam said and opened the bottle of rum and took a long swig of it. It was very good rum. "So do I get twenty lashes for getting scratched...Sebastion?"

"Don't look so smug," Dean poked Sam in the chest, waited for him to finish taking a drink, then took the bottle from him and guzzled down a few swallows. "And yes. You're going to get something for getting scratched. Something big and hard." Smirking, he kissed Sam, rolling his tongue around Sam's and tasting rum and sweet juice. "Let's go home so I can give it to you."

Sam stole the bottle back and took a hefty swig. "Home. I like that. And for future reference, I'm never leaving you in the middle of an attack when you're that badly outnumbered, no matter your orders. Got it? We go down together, or not at all." Slipping his arm around Dean's waist, he handed the rum back and headed toward the wharf.

"I didn't know you could fight. And for future reference, I'll probably order you away anyway. You're free to ignore that order." In a way, the refusal to obey would still be on his order, or at least that was Dean's rationalization. "Your Sebastian, huh? I like it," he grinned, knowing Sam thought he'd fight it. "It was a fine end to a fine night." In the distance, he saw the Vengeance. Turning to look at Sam, he smiled softly. Everything he could ever want was in his grasp. Everything.

"Course I can fight. And I will ignore that order...my Sebastion, my land ahoy." Sam smiled back at him.

* * *

Up before dawn, Dean had watched Rufus interrogate the ruffian they'd captured. At first, the man had sworn up and down that he was part of Yella Beard's crew and that the attack had been part of his captain's plan to pay back the Pirate King for stealing his treasure out from under his feet more than a year ago. It was too bad for the man that neither of them bought his story.

The man was a bleeding mess and was dipped into the salt water several times before coming clean. All he knew was there was a big price on the Pirate King's head and that the man who placed it was staying at Emerald Cove Inn. By the description of the man, it became clear it was the same man who had given Lord Governor Winchester's answer to the ransom last eve, to Rufus. It wouldn't do any good to kill the courier, and yet it wouldn't do the Pirate King's reputation any good to free this man who'd attacked him to collect a fee.

Before Dean disembarked the ship, he watched as the man was tied to a weight, given a dagger, and thrown off the ship in full view of those on the wharf. The man had a chance of cutting the ropes free and swimming to safety, if he was lucky. Walking away with his cabin boy in tow, Dean didn't give the man a second thought.

* * *  
Whistling, Dean watched Alfred trying to balance all of the parcels he was carrying as he walked ahead of Dean up the gangplank. Seeing Sam leaning against the railing and hopefully watching for him, Dean grinned and lengthened his strides, slowing only to answer a question put to him by a crew member before boarding and heading for Sam.

"You look... recovered from your night," he said, clapping one hand on Sam's back as he leaned in and stole a kiss.

"After you fell asleep, I was up checking on patients. Still you should have woken me when you got up." He eyed Alfred. "Did you buy out the town? And I still need to go shopping. When do we leave port? How much time do I have?"

"Winds won't be right for a few more hours. If you're going, you let me or Rufus know and some men will be sent with you. Aye, it is to both watch you and protect you," he admitted. "You'll be free of these constraints soon enough. We've agreed upon a meeting point for the exchange. It will take place five days from now, I allowed them the few more days they begged. It will give my men time to be in place to plunder the Governor's mansion while the exchange is taking place," he said with a grin that lacked mirth. "Tell me, is there anything of yours you want them to retrieve for you?"

Sam gaped at Dean, then after a moment recovered his senses. "I'll make a list. There are only a few things, some books, some journals, a few sets of clothing I favor, simple things like that. But something I would like very much is the portrait in my father's office, at the warehouse, of my mother." He gave a wave to the shore. "I would like to go ashore now. I've got a bag of items to sell so I might buy some things I'd like. I don't suppose you already requested a barrel of coconuts and sweet nectar did you?"

"Aye, they've been ordered. There's no need for you to sell anything, and no time." Digging into the pocket of his great coat, Dean pulled out a money sack. "Here. And don't get cheated," he ordered, slapping it into Sam's hand. "You better not have ribbons on your mind, I'll not be wearing them," he warned, his eyes lighting up.

If Dean had ordered his coconuts and nectar...he took a second look at all the packages. "Are these...for me? Blank Journals? Medical books? Work clothes? Doctor's satchel?" Sam asked, eyeing everything Alfred was carrying toward the captain's quarters.

"Perhaps you should see for yourself?" Chuckling, Dean pressed the sack into Sam's hand, making sure the man took possession of it before he let go. "I may have been a bit drunk, but there's nothing wrong with my memory."

Sam threw an arm around Dean's neck and kissed him. "I guess I better see what you purchased before I go do the same." He grinned. "You are going to make me feel like a kept man. And spoil me, too," Sam hurried after Alfred and helped him with the packages. As soon as they were inside the captain's quarters, he began opening them excitedly, like a child on Christmas morning. Dean had gotten him everything, including a telescope.

Standing in the door frame, leaning against it, Dean enjoyed watching Sam, experiencing second hand excitement just by listening to his exclamations and his expressions. "Alfred, if you ever wondered what a giant child might be like..."

Alfred laughed and stood back, allowing Sam to have at it. "Quite a bit like you, Sir, when you were shopping."

Sam laughed at Alfred's remark. "You and I are going to have to have a good long discussion about this shopping adventure you two had," Sam said to the cabin boy. He walked up to Dean and pulled him the rest the way into the cabin. "If I wasn't limited on time, I would see you thanked properly." He gave Dean an intense, promising kiss all the same. "I best get going though if I'm to be back before the winds shift. May I at least have a dagger to carry with me? I don't wish to be caught unarmed again in port."

"Alfred, where are you going?" Dean demanded, seeing the lad was trying to slip out of his quarters. He kept a tight grip on Sam.

"No... nowhere Sir," Alfred responded, his face beet red.

"Right, get Sam a dagger, and accompany him back into town. And stop blushing, this is a sight you'd best get used to in a hurry. Starting now," he deliberately turned and gave Sam a long, lingering kiss.

Sam kissed Dean back enthusiastically then once Alfred left and he needed a breath, he broke off their kiss. "Go easy on him. It's going to be something of an adjustment. For a lot of people. Will it just be Alfred and I shopping or will anyone else be along?"

"You, Alfred and six others who will keep their distance. And Alfred will survive me," he promised, walking Sam to the door and following him out. Over the railing, he called down and ordered that sailors assemble to accompany Sam ashore. "I need to plan out our course. Enjoy yourself."

"I will and I'll try to stay out of trouble. And won't let them cheat me."  
Sam accepted the dagger Alfred got for him and put it on his belt, and smiled when Alfred handed him some cheese and bread and wineskin.

"Didn't think you'd had breakfast, Sir," Alfred said.

"You're ever on top of things," Sam said, taking the light breakfast gratefully and offering some to Alfred who shook his head, then they walked down the gangplank. He noted which of the crew were his bodyguards then put them out of his mind as he headed into town, ignoring the shops nearest the wharf, knowing the better quality items would be found in the town proper.

"I never thought I'd have this, my own life to lead as I wanted. No censure from my father, or from gentry. I can be completely myself." Sam gave a soft laugh. "Though after all this time I'm not really sure who that is. Can you offer me any guidance about where I might find a nice ring for Dean? What shops to go to, which ones I should avoid?" he asked Alfred.

"Pardon me, but I think you know who you are, Sir," Alfred said gently, tugging on Sam's sleeve to lead him down a narrow street. "I know the stores that sell gold, silver and jewels, too. They'd be less likely to cheat--" He came to a standstill, unconsciously shaking the mud off his boot from having stepped into a puddle, and searched Sam's face. "A ring? For the Captain? To remember you by?"

Sam smiled at Alfred's innocence and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be returning, after the ransom is paid. Dean's asked me to be his partner in matelotage and I've accepted. I'll be the doctor's assistant, after you find one, until I've learned enough to be the ship's doctor proper. That's why Dean said you best get used to seeing him and I kissing. So the ring is for Dean, from me, for the matelotage."

"So we're stealing your father's treasure, and then we're stealing you? Capital!" Alfred exclaimed, giving Sam an enthusiastic hug, then pulling away slightly red-faced. "You won't tell the Captain... I mean I have a sweetheart and it was... I'm just happy you're staying," he mumbled, hoping the other lads following behind would keep their gobs shut.

Sam laughed, hugging the boy back. "You're a bit young for me, so I don't think you have to worry about the captain being jealous. Just like you've only an interest in your sweetheart, I've only an interest in mine. You'd hug a woman crewmember in celebration without fretting that she'd take it wrong, wouldn't you? Besides, I guess you'll sort of be my cabin boy now, too. But you can still call me Sam." Slapping the boy on the back he waved down the street, "Lead on, Alfred. And best you not go telling the rest of the crew. I imagine the captain will want to make that announcement when the time is right."

Sam followed Alfred to a couple jewelry stores, looking over rings and chains. There was an interesting assortment of finery, from different parts of the world, and in varying states of wear, from new to what appeared ancient. He found a ring engraved with dragons, which he liked a lot, but he wanted Dean to look at the ring and think of him. Looking over a vast quantity of rings, he stopped and studied one. "This one, sir, what is this?"

"Good eye, that be a shield ring from Boru. Shows the four seasons, the movement of the sun in the sky, and how Crom, a pagan snake god left his impact on Irish Christianity." he said pointing out the intricate engravings. "'T'is the ring of a warrior, though."

Sam tried it on, a silver engraved ring edged in gold. Of all those he'd seen, he felt this was most representative of himself, of wanting to shield Dean as Dean promised to protect him, recognizing Dean as a warrior, with a bit of religion and scholarly concepts worked in as well. He haggled with the man, convinced him to throw in a good, solid chain for Dean and asked that the ring be engraved on the inside with 'My Land Ahoy." The man told him to return in an hour or so.

"How about a good meal before we set sail, Alfred? Maybe we can buy a new captain's journal for Dean, as well. One he can use once I've joined the ship permanently. A fresh start."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Then we'll have been to several of the same shops as the Captain. A meal sounds fine, and I know a fine bookmaker." He moved aside to let passers by go, then continued to a wider street where people were hawking their goods. "Will you miss your friends?" He turned to Sam. "You might never see them again, you know?"

"Yes," Sam said, nodding, "I'll miss them, but most of those who I count as true friends were among the servants and with my father financially bereft, they will need seek jobs elsewhere and it is unlikely I would see them anyhow. Especially as I haven't Gabriel to go to the pubs and such with in begger's town. I don't know that I would go by myself and the memories...they would be too painful." He saw Alfred's quizzical look. "Gabriel was a stablehand and my love until my father discovered us together and killed him. Beat me something terrible as well. Catching us together was part of what prompted my father to arrange my marriage to Miss Peden, which in turn, placed me on the Vengeance. I did not think I could ever feel love again after Gabriel, but Dean..." Sam smiled softly. "In some ways he reminds me of Gabriel. Brash, courageous, gentle. There is something between us, a connection I can't explain. But I would rather die than be without him. He has stolen my heart and healed my soul. He has freed me from my father's chains, and the chains of the world that said I must marry a woman, and that I must follow in my father's footsteps rather than be a doctor and sodomite and find happiness. There, let us eat there," Sam suggested. The scents coming from the open doorway of the tavern were heavenly. "Then we'll go to the bookmaker and return to pick up the ring. Oh and I need to pick up some ribbons, some pink ones and maybe some black ones--don't ask. Do you miss your friends? And are you glad you took my advice about visiting a brothel?"

Once again, Alfred blushed furiously as they went inside, where it was noticeably cooler, and found a table to their liking. "I didn't have many friends, spent most of my time with our tutor. I do miss my brother and... and her." He put his hand around the mug of ale that the owner of the place had set before them without asking what they wished to drink. "The brothel..." he squirmed a bit. "Aye, it was good. But now all I can think about is how Cherie smelled and how soft her hair was and... The Captain already cuffed me about the head twice because it was in the clouds. Do you think it will wear off?"

Laughing, Sam took a drink of the ale. "Aye, in a week or two. At least, you won't be thinking about her all the time. You ought to write her letters and let her know you're thinking about her." He tilted his head. "You had tutors? You're from a wealthy family?"

"Landed gentry, aye, but it all goes to my brother." Alfred shrugged. "It's why father allowed me to enlist. I was a quarterdeck boy, should have made an officer very soon, but... we lost a battle with the Vengeance and I jumped ship. My Captain was not a fair man. Several of us took the Pirate King's offer. I supposed I didn't think ahead to the things you'd said, about whether I'd be welcome back after working on a pirate ship." His face fell a little.

"Hmm, yes. Well, I know a number of good captains, and when you are near ready to return, why don't I see if I can't get you onboard a ship for a couple runs, a ship that won't get you locked in irons if you admit to serving aboard her. Or get you aboard a legitimate privateer ship sanctioned by the British Government. Another option is that we can forge some papers from some ships in the Mediterranean perhaps. When this is all resolved, we'll have to see if the Winchester name still carries any weight. Might be that I can write a letter on your behalf, myself. We'll find a way to make you respectable so you can return to your family and sweetheart. Or, might be that you like this life, and you could always ask your sweetheart to join you, if adventure is in her nature."

"She's good at climbing trees, but I don't think she'd like to live at sea." His stomach rumbled as two cuts of meat were placed on the table. As soon as Sam was done selecting his cut, Alfred did the same and started to eat. "I expect we'll be having this conversation again in a few years, when I've got enough treasures saved away. The Captain counseled me on what to save and not to use everything up on grog and women. He tells all the men that, so they have something when they leave the ship. Not many listen, but I have... I will. Do you like it?" he asked, pointing at the meat with his knife. "I think it's snake."

"Climbing trees....Did you say snake?" Sam stopped and stared at the meat he'd been enjoying. After a long moment of consideration, he gave a shrug. He'd liked it before he ever knew what it was, so why be bothered now? "Not something I ever expected to eat, but yes, tastes a bit like chicken. Alfred, one thing you must consider if you've never written your girl is she might not know you're still even alive and may move on to someone else. In another year or so, I would guess she'll be of courting age?" At Alfred's nod, Sam said, "You must let her know you are well and still intend to return for her, otherwise, I doubt she'll be available in a few years, no matter what promises she made when you left."

"Right Sir, I'll do that," he readily agreed, seeing the wisdom of Sam's words. "And to my father." The problem resolved, he started to eat heartily, telling Sam about the places they'd been on the Vengeance and the places he still wanted to see. Soon, they were deep in conversation, as if they'd been fast friends for a long time.

* * *

When Sam and Alfred returned it was with far fewer packages than Dean had brought back, but there was still quite a stack. He'd found a book on astronomy, deck shoes that were better for climbing the masts than what he had, an all weather hat, a shirt with lots of pockets that he thought would serve him well as a doctor's assistant, and a couple books on sailing and military strategy, along with the ship's journal for Dean and the ring and chain. He'd also picked up a red shirt and a white shirt for Dean. He didn't want Dean in all black when they had their ceremony, and the red shirt was in part for the joke Dean had told him. Alfred helped him stow the packages, then Sam went in search of Dean to let him know he'd returned.

Hands clasped behind his back, Dean watched as one of his men got flogged for breaking the rules while on shore leave. His expression was impassive as the lashes were counted out, then he gave the order to cut the man down and watched as he was helped below deck. That's when he caught sight of Sam a short distance away, and raised his brow.

Striding over to Dean, his gaze followed the man whose back was bleeding. It looked like he would have a few stitches to put in. "I finished my shopping. We didn't have any problems." He handed Dean's money bag back to him. "I'll pay you back what I used when I get some coin. Which begs a question. Do I get any part of the ransom?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"No." Tucking the coin purse away, Dean leaned in and added, "though after the contract papers are drawn, you'll be entitled to half of all my earthly belongings, including my share of the ransom."

"Can't blame me for trying," Sam chuckled. Sobering, he asked quietly, "When are you going to make it known to the crew that you and I are going to stay together? After the ransom is paid? Who's drawing up the contract papers?"

"You're full of questions. Don't you trust me?" Dean asked, searching Sam's face.  
"I'm always full of questions. Of course I trust you. I don't trust me not to blurt it out. I don't want to say something or imply something if you're not ready for me to. I just wondered if you had the papers drawn up while in port. This is all new to me."

"We'll tell the men before the ransom is paid, so they know to protect you at all costs. The ceremony will be later, at any port of call of our choosing. The papers won't take long to draw up." His gaze moved to the gang plank that was being pulled up and he gave a nod in response to a question, before he turned back to Sam and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We'll tell the men tonight or tomorrow. Then there will likely be toasting and feasting. It will happen. I give you my word."

Sam laid his hand overtop of Dean's. "Of course it will. I'm not worried that it won't. Besides, if you took up with someone else, I'd kick your ass." He leaned in and stole a quick kiss. "I'm possessive too, you know." Straightening he added, "Since it appears you made work for the doctor, and we don't have a doctor yet, I guess I better go sew up Galvin before he bleeds everywhere. That's probably bad luck, starting off a trip with blood on the deck or something."  
"Don't coddle the man. Let him suffer a bit," Dean shouted after Sam, shaking his head when Sam rolled his eyes. They started pushing away from the harbor and Dean went back to the business of deciding the best course to the rendezvous point.

* * *

The evening was beautiful, the moon rising as the sun was setting and the wind was gentle but steady, the ocean covered in long low swells. Dean had called for a feast to be had on deck and the cook had roasted a large sow purchased fresh that morning. A large table had been brought up from below deck and was now laden with the pig and tropical fruits and fresh bread. A barrel of ale was broken open and the men had filled their plates with the meat and fruit and were scattered about the deck, waiting for the captain's speech. He always gave a speech the first night out when they were headed to encounter a ship to loot. He was not known for being long-winded, which the crew appreciated as they waited patiently before eating.

Dean cleared his throat and looked at his men. "Lord Governor Winchester has agreed to pay the ransom." Though by now it was common knowledge, the men nevertheless cheered the development. "He will bring the ransom on the merchant ship, Delaney. I will select a small boarding crew, and together with Sam, we'll board the Delaney. Once the ransom is accounted for, Sam will be set free."  
Many eyes went to Sam, some of the men looking away from him quickly.

"As you know, we are still in need of a physician. I or Rufus will make the standard speech, try to recruit especially anyone who has knowledge of the medical arts, and any crewman who wants a different life. Those who wish to come with us will retreat with us to the Vengeance. I don't know how many will choose to join, but what I do know is that Samue... Sam will choose to return with us."

While the men cheered or gasped or called out questions, Dean put his arm around Sam's waist and pulled him closer. "At some point in the near future, I intend to take Sam as my partner in matelotage. He will remain with us as a full member of the crew, with normal... with normal duties," he raised his voice, to talk over the now louder cheers. When a group of men broke out in song, singing 'yo ho Sebastian,' he shook his head and pulled Sam into his arms, kissing him soundly.

Sam felt the unexpected blush color his cheeks as he kissed Dean back, hearing the lyrics and knowing that never again did he have to fear being discovered. The crew knew now, not that it had been secret he'd been in the captain's bed, but they knew now that it wasn't just Sam looking for better treatment, but rather that Sam was a sodomite. And they didn't care. He threw his head back and laughed, picking Dean up and swinging him around once. "My Sebastion, my land ahoy," Sam said to him and kissed Dean again with all the love he felt in his heart. He had never believed in love at first sight, but they had fallen in love in just a few days and you couldn't get much closer to love at first sight than that. Once Sam convinced Dean he was not like his father, of course. "I'll be kissing you when I join the crew proper. I want my father to see it, see that I found love and happiness and that I'm never looking back."

"I'll be expecting that kiss," Dean answered with a leer. "Grab your plate, let's go sit over there," he said, pointing to some crates near the other men but far enough that if they spoke quietly, they wouldn't be overheard. Before he could get his own plate, Alfred had it in hand, as well as Sam's and was moving them to the place he'd nodded towards.

"That young man deserves a raise," Sam told Dean quietly. "He is always right at your elbows, like he knows what you need before you do." He followed Dean over to the crates and sat down, accepting the plate and napkin from Alfred. He saw Alfred's grin and grinned back. "Thank you, Alfred."

When Dean settled beside him, after he got his plate, Sam leaned over and stole a quick kiss. "Mmm, don't think I'm going to be able to get enough of you tonight."

"Oh, do I look particularly ravishing tonight?" He had taken care to give himself a close shave and had used some scented water. His shirt was also partially undone but it was a warm night.

"If I'm going to be a pirate, I need practice ravishing the most handsome man in my sight," Sam said solemnly then smirked. "You smell good, too."

"I taste good, too," Dean offered, running his hand down Sam's face, gripping his shirt and drawing him close, giving Sam a soft, lingering kiss, then didn't pull away too far. "'Sam, just Sam.'" He smiled, then licking his lips, dug into his pocket. "I love you." He managed to say the words he'd never thought would leave his lips, at least without sounding ridiculous. "I want to spend the rest of my days with you, only you. I'm possessive too, and there won't be a third in our relationship," he said. "I have something for you." He offered his closed fist to Sam, then slowly opened it up.

Sam's eyes went to Dean's hand where a two toned ring lay, and he realized it was two separate bands that locked together into one. "Past and future, you and I, a perfect fit of a puzzle," Sam said, picking up the ring. He separated the interlocking bands. "Infinity, forever," he said looking at the figure 8 the interlocking rings made. He figured out how to realign the rings and interlocked them into a single ring again and slid it onto his finger. "It's perfect, Dean. Absolutely perfect. I love you, too. You're the only one for me," Sam said and pulled from his own pocket a wooden box that held both the chain and the ring. "I have this for you."

"Already?" Dean asked thickly, moved by how fast Sam had grasped the reasons he'd chosen the ring he'd given Sam. It was uncanny sometimes, how they seemed to think so alike, even when they were as different as two men could be. Slowly, he opened the box and seeing that Sam had selected a two tone ring as well, gave a brilliant smile and held it up to look at the embossed details on the wide, flat silver area of the ring that was gilded in yellow gold on both edges. "Celtic? It's beautiful, just like my beautiful sailor." He frowned slightly seeing the narrow cross amidst the markings and waited for an explanation since he could come up with none.

Sam explained the markings on the rings. "The four seasons, the movement of the sun, represents my scholarly side, and my feelings for you that will last through the changing seasons, come what may. The shield, because you said you would protect me and I want to do the same for you. This, the design of the cross, shows Crom, a pagan god, impacted Christianity in the area. You don't believe in God. I do. I imagine we'll both impact the other's beliefs, or it can represent that even if I'm religious, I'm fine that you're not. The man said it was a warrior's ring...and I had it engraved."

Dean nodded, raising the ring up to use the light from an oil lamp that Alfred had hung up next to them. Running his finger over the inscription, he read it out loud. "My Land Ahoy." Recalling how emotional Sam had gotten the first time he'd heard the song, a lump rose in Dean's throat. "I will wear it always, and I'll be your land, the ground you stand on. Always," he vowed, taking the silver chain he'd left in the box, and stringing it through the ring. "It's perfect, Sam." Putting it on, he leaned in and kissed Sam, putting his hand behind Sam's head to prevent Sam from pulling away too quickly. "Yeah... perfect," he repeated, licking his lips and still tasting Sam on them after he broke the kiss.

"Perfect, like you. Though I wish this were all done and past, the ransom thing. That I was already back on board and we were sailing to our new lives, together, forever," Sam said, smiling at Dean. "Then everything would be perfect." He picked up a piece of meat and fed it to Dean, following up with some fruit. "Ah hah, at least he eats fruits even if he won't eat vegetables." Sam gave him a light kiss and smacked his lips. "Which is good because I like fruit. Especially on you."

"Then take some to our quarters. I have some ideas on feeding them to you," Dean said with a leer, opening his mouth to accept another helping of meat just as the music struck up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=de8k2b)  
>  Banner by Stawberynvanilla

The days passed quickly. In addition to studying and giving any medical aid that he could, Sam spent a few hours each day learning the tasks that the sailors performed. He threw his heart and soul into his work, scrubbing the decks with as much vigor as the others, taking a turn in the crow's nest and not complaining when he was asked to perform duties a doctor or a doctor's assistant would rarely be asked to perform. At first, Dean kept a keen eye on Sam, making sure his men didn't push him too far. But very soon, he saw that Sam didn't need his protection, he was quickly earning the respect and friendship of the crew.

Now, just a half hour before dawn, as he stood on deck in his full regalia, Dean was certain his decision to keep Sam forever at his side was the correct one. Sam was a part of his past as much as he was a part of his destiny, a destiny Dean was about to meet head-on. As much as Sam shied away from it, Dean welcomed the moment he would look into his father's face. He'd imagined all too many times the terror that would enter the man's eyes upon seeing him, the Pirate King, clad in black from head to foot, face grim, eyes hard and lined with kohl, in the manner of some of the pirates that came out of the east, and a single earring dangling from his earlobe. If there was justice in this world, his father would soil his pants when Dean approached him.

The fog was too thick, he didn't like it. It was early and he didn't expect the other ship yet, but sailing blind was dangerous. He knew only too well that it was entirely possible that the merchant ship would be accompanied by naval vessel intent on capturing him. Of course he had sent for another pirate ship himself, a ship he'd acquired in battle and then given to one of his trusted men. Between the two of them, he was confident that no trick would get the best of him.

His coat billowed in the cold breeze. Every once in a while, he looked up at the crow's nest and then down at the lads standing at the railing, peering out for signs of sails. It was quiet. The quiet before a storm.

*

Sam found he couldn't eat much, either from excitement or fear, he wasn't sure. Alfred gave him encouraging words as he helped Sam into his fine clothes. Sam made certain everything looked perfect, in part to help put his father at ease, but also as a means of keeping himself occupied. He even pulled out the dreaded white wig and tucked his dark hair under it. Alfred made him eat a little more and drink a bit of wine then brought the shackles over for Sam's wrists. He looked decidedly unhappy about it.

"I can't be on deck and not be in shackles," Sam reassured him. "Besides, it's just my wrists and both you and Dean have keys for them if something goes wrong. Stop worrying." Even as he told Alfred that, he chewed on his lower lip. He still wished Dean would forget this madness, turn the ship, and just sail away. He had a bad feeling in his gut and the fog surrounding the ship didn't help.

Once he was ready, he headed out to the deck to stand by Dean. "Any sign of them?" he asked.

"Not yet." Dean did a double-take of Sam, not having expected the wig. "If you take it off while we're on board the other ship, bring it back with you." He answered the question in Sam's eyes, "I've a mind to ravish you with it on."

Alfred scurried away from them as quickly as his legs could take him.

"Are you afraid?" he asked Sam, seeing his joke hadn't drawn even a slight smile.

Sam shook his head, then shrugged. "I don't...I wish we would just sail away and forget this. I've a bad feeling about it all." Sam touched Dean's hand, the chain between the shackles rattling softly. "Whatever happens, know I'm with you, that I love you, forever."

"Nothing's going to happen," Dean closed his hand around Sam's. "I won't let fate cheat me twice. I won't be robbed of this... of you." He looked out past the railings for a moment, then turned back. "It will be over soon. In a few hours, we'll be sailing away from this place and that man, both of us free of him."

"I hope you're right," Sam said softly, squeezing Dean's hand. He gave a half-hearted smile. "Next port we're in, I'll get you a proper earring. Flowers, ribbons, something. And I'm not bringing this wig back. It's getting tossed into the sea. Unless you want to wear it to go with your earring and makeup in the future."  
"Oh I think I could go five rounds back to back if you were to keep it, but toss it if you wish," Dean whispered in a low, velvety rasp, his gaze raking over Sam the way it tended to whenever Sam shed his clothes.

Sam groaned softly at the thought. "You are an evil man. Do not make me excited and obviously so, or I swear I will not get on board the boat for the exchange. I will not face my father with my mast at full attention. Fine, I will return with the wig. Kiss me now, before the fog clears and they might see. Kiss me," Sam begged. 

Almost too gently, Dean kissed Sam, sucking lightly on his lower lip. Even before he released Sam's lip, he felt Sam's insistent hand at his back, refusing to let him move away. "I see how it is. What Sam wants, Sam gets," he whispered against Sam's lips, bearing down more firmly, crushing them as he held Sam in his arms, molding him closer, putting everything he had into the kiss. His love. His dedication. His promise of the tomorrows that would be theirs. The heated battle between their tongues finally eased. He stroked Sam's palate one last time with the tip of his tongue before he pulled away, satisfied that Sam was left gasping for air.   
Using his thumb to wipe the wetness from his own lips, Dean looked out once again, his mouth set in an uncharacteristic smile. 

Sam sighed contentedly, Dean's kiss easing some of his fears. All would go smoothly then their lives could truly start. He smiled as he thought of the places he would get to see. He had enjoyed the past days even though scrubbing the deck was almost as hard as mucking stables. He'd enjoyed climbing up in the sails, looking out over the ocean, oiling chains and fixing nets. It made him feel useful and he liked the respect he saw in the eyes of the others. They knew he was gentry and he supposed they were impressed that he pulled his weight as well as his inexperience at sailing permitted him to. They teased him occasionally, jokes about sweeping the captain off his feet, or how the 'land-lubber' didn't know how to do this or do that. He found he was still shy of working around the cannons and had no talent for stacking cannon balls or judging the proper amount of black powder to use. Still, he felt more at home on this ship than he had anywhere ever in his life. He'd also learned to curb his curiosity regarding Dean and his father. Dean insisted it was in the past, or would be soon enough, and it did not matter to their future. So Sam let the odd comments slide and ignored the occasional looks he got from Rufus that he just knew dealt with Dean's past. It didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was that they were happy. And they were. 

"Captain, ship approaching from starboard," the lookout shouted.

Immediately, several people, including the Captain and the Quartermaster put their spyglasses to their eyes and searched through the gray, curling fog still rolling over the ocean. 

"Right there, Captain," Rufus pointed. 

Dean moved his telescope slightly and saw the sails. "They're early, too. Have the lookouts keep a sharp eye out for another ship."

"Aye Captain." A sailor hurried to send the order on up.

"Rufus, can you read the name of the ship. It doesn't look like the Delaney." Dean's brows furrowed.

"I can't make it out yet." Rufus cursed. "That ship is much bigger than the Delaney."

"I don't see any gun ports." Calling out a few orders to bring the Vengeance in slowly so the ships were facing broadside but with quite a bit of distance between them, Dean continued to study the ship. The Captain of the other ship wore a powdered wig and was surrounded by midshipman. When the fog rolled out a little more, the deck was visible. It was busy, but there was no sign of armed men. "They're watching." 

"Aha... there's our treasure."

Once again, looking to where Rufus pointed, Dean saw the large chest and a few crates. "The Langtree," Dean said, finally making out the name of the ship. "I haven't heard of it," Dean muttered, moving his spyglass again, then freezing. His jaw worked as he stared at the man sitting on a chair next to the boxes. Dark eyes and a cruel mouth that could so easily twist into a charming smile, oh yes, he remembered his father only too well. The bastard hadn't changed much. A little older, a bit of gray, but still fit.

"The Langtree belongs to Faversham and Sons," Sam said. "I've heard of it, but never seen it. It usually calls Boston its port. They've wanted a piece of our shipping trade for a long time. Faversham has a daughter of marrying age and has tried to convince my father that she and I would make a good match. They would certainly have enough money to assist in paying the ransom." 

"That would be foolish, unless they took collateral. In which case, your father will lose even more." Dean's smile was grim. "Quartermaster, communicate our intent."

"I would be that collateral in all likelihood," Sam said. "I imagine Father has cancelled the arrangement with the Pedens so I can marry Faversham's daughter."

"Aye aye, Captain." Rufus walked to the railing and used a horn to shout to his counterpart on the other ship. 

Dean grabbed the leading chains, met Sam's eyes for a brief moment, and started to walk to where two rowing boats were being secured to be let down into the water. 

"Captain, there's something off. They're... I can't put my finger on it, they're... standing too straight."

"Duly noted," Dean answered Rufus as he passed the chains to another sailor who helped Sam into the row boat. 

"Captain--" Rufus tried again.

"Fine, once we're in the water, the Vengeance is to circle around." Dean raised his hand to cut off any further discussions.

Two rows of men and Dean got in the boat after Sam, then the boat was lowered onto the ocean, the ropes creaking under the strain of their weight. A second boat filled with men joined them on the water, and then the men started to row hard and fast. Dean kept watching those aboard the Langtree. Rufus was right, something was off, but they were committed to action.

Sam sat nervously in the boat, looking at the Langtree growing ever closer. He said a soft prayer for God to keep the crew safe and for Dean's plan to go off without a hitch. When they reached the ship, Sam was brought up when two-thirds of the boarding party were on the Langtree, but he was held back, two crew members holding guns to his head as Dean stepped toward his father. 

Sam's gaze briefly met Lord Winchester's then dropped away in shame from the hateful recriminations he saw in his father's eyes. If he were not to return with Dean, he had no doubt there would be punishment ahead for him. There was not a single dram of love or concern in his father's face.

Dean coolly searched the Lord Governor's face, then passed over him, to look at the ship's Captain. "Captain...?"

"Richards. It's Captain Richards," the older man said.

"Captain Richards, let us transact this business as quickly as possible. As stipulated, the prisoner is in good form," he said, waving a hand toward Sam.

Captain Richards looked at the Lord Governor, who nodded, indicating Sam was indeed his son. He, in turn, gestured toward the chests on the deck. "The ransom in full, and the Lord Governor General's personal appearance, as stipulated by your terms. Now release your prisoner and collect your ransom."

Dean nodded, but raised a hand to prevent his men from releasing Sam. He crossed in front of his father. "Stand up and deliver, old man."

Lord Winchester glared at the Pirate King and rose to his feet. He topped the young man by an inch or so. "I've delivered the ransom, bastard. What more do you want? Give me my son. Now," he snarled.

"I assure you, I am no bastard. Not in the traditional sense," Dean answered, his eyes clashing with his father's. "I want to see the jewelry. I want you to show it to me, every last piece. If anything is missing, anything, it's your life, and your son's." He gave a thin, mirthless laugh. "In that order. Now get on your knees and open the chest."

Lord Winchester's hands closed into fists and if there weren't two guns trained on his son, he would beat the pirate before him into a bloodied heap of flesh. He stiffly strode over to the second chest and opened it. Grabbing a black velvet bag from atop the stack of gold coin, he threw it at the pirate's chest. "There. One piece was broken apart and reset into three other pieces, and I could only re-acquire one of the new pieces. The other two could not be tracked down but two diamonds of equal value are in a small bag with the jewelry." 

Catching it, Dean's eyes glinted. "Your wife would be proud of you today, doing all in your power, using the last of her jewelry and capital to save her _only_ beloved son." Pouring the jewelry into his hand, he barely glanced at it before he pocketed the bag and contents. 

"And I'm sure your parents would be proud of the mongrel they brought into this world," Lord Winchester growled. "My son. Release him."

"Of the mongrel they turned me into, mayhaps." He stared at the Lord Governor, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he wondered if he'd get the satisfaction he'd craved if he beat the man, because right now all he felt was emptiness and none of the euphoria he'd expected. 

"We'll release the prisoner," Dean said, "once we have the treasure loaded."

"No," Captain Richards snapped. "The treasure doesn't leave my ship until the Lord Governor General's son is no longer your prisoner and in danger."

Dean never moved, never looked away, staring at John Winchester the same way he had at Sam when he'd first captured him, willing the man to recall, but knowing full well that he'd been cast off as easily as a well-worn pair of boots, never to be thought about again. "We'll have the crates to the edge, ready to go down. I'll not release my prisoner before then."

Richards looked to the governor who gave a curt nod. "Very well," the captain said.

Dean called out, "Get these crates onto the boats."   
The Vengeance's crew moved to get the ransom, picking up and lugging the heavy chests towards the side.

"That's far enough!" the governor's voice boomed. "Release my son!" he snarled at the black-garbed pirate.

Dean stared back at the man, silent for a few long draws of breath. The deck had fallen quiet except for the creaking of ropes and the occasional billowing of the sails. "Release the prisoner!" Dean finally announced.

One of the crew released Sam's shackles and shoved him forward a couple steps. "Off with ye," the crewman told him. 

...Then all hell broke loose. 

Gunfire, the sound of breaking wood, ripped fabric, shouts and the running cadence of several feet made a cacophony of sound that Sam couldn't begin to sort out before he found himself tackled to the deck by a large and unpleasant smelling crewman from the Delaney. 

Dean pulled his loaded muskets out and turned in time to see men in Royal Navy uniforms breaking through false siding around the ship, shooting at his men from behind them. He took aim and fired, aimed and fired, and aimed and fired until he'd taken six shots from his two triple-barrel flintlocks, downing a few of the naval soldiers. Dropping his pistols, he pulled his sword out.

Blood curdling screams of pain and oaths and grunts filled the air. More soldiers crawled out of hatches and doors, filling the deck and far outnumbering the pirates. Their real Captain was on deck, calling orders. It was clear they were intent on killing every single pirate. 

Shouting at his men to abandon ship, Dean attacked as many as he could, kicking and cutting them down. Feeling someone come up behind him, he turned and slashed the man across his face, startled to see it was his father. Frozen with shock for a heartbeat, the older man was able to punch him in the jaw. 

Lord Winchester was accompanied by two midshipmen who went after Dean. Standing his ground, determined to erase his father from existence if it was his last act, Dean fought, gutted the two men, and then rounded on Lord Winchester. Within seconds, he was behind his father, his arm around the Lord Governor's chest and neck, the sharp edge of his cutlass pressing against his throat. "Stop or he's dead!" he shouted, searching for the Vengeance and seeing she no longer had her broadside exposed. No doubt the gun ports on the Langtree were hidden with false fronts just as such false fronts had been used to hide the ship men.  
"Cease fire!" the real captain of the Langtree ordered, seeing the Lord Governor in jeopardy. He eyed the Pirate King. "Have your men lay their weapons aside, Captain. Now."

"Have your men do the same, then allow mine to leave," Dean countered, pressing the blade harder against his father's throat. "Or it will be my pleasure to kill him."

The captain looked the pirate over. "No. My men will not put down their weapons. But in exchange for the Lord Governor's welfare, your men are free to leave, _after_ dropping their weapons. You will tell them to take the Vengeance and if I still see its sails in the time it should take them to sail away, or the sails of any pirate ship, your life will be immediately forfeit and your ship attacked. They may take their dead and wounded as well."

His life for theirs, yeah, it was a deal he'd have to take. Not that it would necessarily be the end. Rufus would come after them. He'd know Dean would prefer to go down with the ship than be judged and hanged, something that was a foregone conclusion as he had no defenses to the crime of piracy. "Aye. And if any of your men do violence to mine, you lose your precious Lord Governor and the Vengeance will be after you. Believe me, you won't like my second in command." His gaze only skimmed over Sam who was still held face down on the deck. 

"Drop your arms and retreat. Take the wounded," Dean ordered his men. In response to the dejection and reluctance expressed by some of them, Dean added. "We've had a good run. Go on, don't look back." He nodded, forcing a smile as he watched them follow what might be his last order.

The men scrambled to collect their fallen comrades. It took time to get them off the ship and down to the waiting boats. The entire time, Dean kept the blade to his father's throat, getting a slight bit of satisfaction from the man's efforts to free himself. The minutes ticked by as the two boats headed for the Vengeance, oars moving as fast as the lads could pull through the waters. 

Once the pirates were off the boat, Sam was helped to his feet. His gaze shifted to Dean, forcing himself to keep his face emotionless. He went over to railing to watch the pirates, his friends, his _crew,_ rowing away. His jaw clenched. Mr. Cooper approached Sam. "Sir, best we go below deck."  
"I will go below when I choose to go below," Sam said, then hissed, "and if you so much as dare touch me, I will kill you as surely as that pirate bastard threatens to do so to my father. Make yourself useful. Get me something to drink. Rum, wine, something with alcohol." When Mr. Cooper stood there, shock plain on his face, Sam snarled, "Now, damn you!"

Sam kept his attention on the boats rowing away, accepting the watered down wine his chaperone got him. He finally turned when the crew was on board the ship and the ship's sails spread full open. The Vengeance turned and began to sail away.

As Dean pulled the blade off, he sliced the delicate skin at his father's throat, scarlet immediately splattering the complicated knot of the white cravat he wore. He managed to keep the grin he wore, even as he dropped the blade and received a sharp blow to his gut. He'd considered fighting, forcing their hands, dying in battle, but he had something to live for now. The day had not ended and he knew the Vengeance would be back. There was yet a chance at the future he'd imagined and he wasn't willing to give up on it.

He was suddenly circled by men, held in place by several of them and forced to accept their blows and kicks. Teeth clenched together, Dean refused to make a sound. 

Sam watched, his features schooled to appear dispassionate as the crew beat Dean senseless. They wouldn't kill him, not yet. They wanted to put him on trial...unless his father had given other orders. He approached the captain of the ship. "What will be his fate?"  
"He will be tried in England for piracy and kidnapping. Assuming he lives."

Sam ground his teeth. "I want to see him on trial, I want to see him hang. Make sure he lives that long."

The captain's brow lifted and he gave a wave of his hand. "Chain him to the whipping post. Is he still conscious?"  
"Yes, Sir," one of the men called out. "He's still conscious."

Lord Governor John Winchester had unwound the blood splattered cravat and was pressing it against his superficial wound. "I want him keel-hauled. I want the bloody bastard to pay," he growled, striding closer to Sam and the real Captain Richards. His gaze swept over his mostly unharmed son and he was satisfied he had not been marred. "Let's see how well he sneers after that."

The captain gave a nod to his crew. "Do as the Lord Governor wishes."

"I thought that could kill a man," Sam said.  
"It can. It might. One less neck to be stretched," the captain said.

"Father! I want him to go to trial!" Sam demanded.

"Samuel, do not act like a hysterical woman," the Governor ordered, giving his son a hard look that spoke volumes. 

"Proceed," the captain ordered.

Dean's head pounded. He'd lost consciousness for a moment and was trying to piece together what happened. Spitting out the blood in his mouth, he turned his face and saw his father and brother. He tried to give Sam a smile.

"No!" Sam countered and turned to his father. "He tied me to the masthead, he beat me, he whipped me and put me in chains. I demand you give me vengeance, Father! I want him whipped for the things he's done to me. I want to see it as his flesh is split, I want to hear it as he screams his pain. Wouldn't whipping him yourself be more satisfying?" Sam demanded of his father, every word tearing at his heart. He wasn't certain he could stand by and let Dean be whipped, let alone keel-hauled, but at least if Dean were on deck, he could have more control, prevent them from killing him. He would do whatever it took to save Dean, but for now, he had to convince them he hated the Pirate King.

Dean recoiled, as if he'd been struck again. His body, his mind rebelled against the words coming from Sam. Sam knew how much he hated his father, aye, there could be no worse punishment for the Pirate King than letting John Winchester wield the whip. The last of the luster in his eyes died. He spit the blood pooled in his mouth and had the satisfaction of seeing some of it splatter on Sam's snow white shirt. "Aren't you your father's son, _Samuel_."

Sam stalked forward and back-fisted him. "You should know when to keep your mouth shut, _'Bastion,_ " he snarled, praying Dean picked up the abbreviated form of Sebastian and that the others wouldn't, or if they did, would have no idea of its implications. "Isn't that what you told me before leaving me to hang by my wrists in your shackles after the whipping you gave me?" He had to keep his eyes veiled, had to hide from onlookers how every word he said was killing him on the inside.

"Shut... aye." Dean decided he would keep his mouth shut, even if it was the last thing he ever did.   
"I'll have him squealing like a pig," the Lord Governor promised his son and the others. "Strip him and get me a flogger."

Rough hands pulled Dean's coat off, then tore his black shirt right off his body. His eyes locked on Lord Winchester's face, the smirk that had irked the man playing on his lips again now.

John Winchester held out his hand for the flogger but it slipped from his fingers when his gaze fell on the birthmark in the shape of a handprint on the pirate's shoulder. "You..." he whispered, paling. "You-you should be dead. Demon-child--this is a trick! You are not my son! You are not Dean!"  
Sam's head snapped to his father. "What?" 

Sam's question was echoed by the two men holding Dean and the others in the small group.

A painful laugh erupted from Dean. "Aye. And I will haunt you. Dead or alive, I will _always_ haunt you." He'd thought this phase of his life would be over, that he and Sam would sail into the horizon. He'd been dead wrong on both counts. Still, somehow he couldn't hate Sam, not yet, so he focused on their father.

"Flog him. Beat him to a pulp, kill him." There was only a minor tremor in his voice. "He is the devil... he wears the devil's mark." The Lord Governor pointed to it as he backed away. "Samuel, move away from him."

"He is no demon," Sam said firmly. "He is only a man." Sam turned to the captain. "My father is obviously distraught over all of these events. I was the one kidnapped. I wish to see him go to trial. If he is indeed," Sam choked a little as he waved at Dean, "my brother, he is gentry, regardless of his crimes, and a Lord. He must go to trial. Give the man thirty lashes and put him in the brig." 

Sam turned back to his father. "Come, Father, let us get you to your quarters and away from this traitorous pirate. You've much to tell me. Am I still betrothed to Miss Peden or have other deals been struck?" He took his father by the elbow and guided him toward quarters. He hated leaving Dean on deck, but he had to get his father away from him to prevent his father from countermanding Sam's request of the Captain.

Dean watched as the two men left the deck. One had triumphed over him again. The other... he'd torn out the heart he himself had awakened. Tumultuous thoughts running through his mind, he quieted them with the hope that Rufus would turn the Vengeance back, would battle either for him or to kill him. Aye, by the time he was strung up and the first heavy blow landed, he wanted nothing more than to see this ship burned. He'd go down with it, and so would the Winchester line end.   
By the eighth stroke, Dean's head reared back, but he refused to make a sound, other than the grunt that escaped. He knew, wherever his father and Samuel were holed up, they were waiting, listening for his shouts. They would not hear them. _They would not._ Not even when his back was on fire, when he could feel blood running down his body, nor when the whip curled around his body and drew blood from his stomach.

***

Sam had poured cup after cup of rum for his father until the man dropped off into an alcohol-induced slumber. He'd never heard Dean cry out and was glad for it. Once his father was drunk enough, he'd managed to get confirmation from him that he had had an older brother named Dean, a devil-child that he had tossed away as some supposed fortune teller had told him. All because of a birthmark. He wanted to beat his father senseless for believing such nonsense. If John Winchester had been a proper God-fearing man as he so oft claimed, then Dean should have been given to the clergy for redemption, if indeed he thought the mark was of the devil, not cast to the streets when he was but a child.

Sam looked out over the ocean, listening to his father's snores as he pulled from his pocket the ring Dean had given him. Dean was his brother and he knew it, yet still made love to Sam. Brothers did not do such things! Many said sodomites were damned, but to lay with one's own brother! How could he? His heart felt as shattered as it had been when his father had killed Gabriel, maybe more so. 

Dean hated the Winchesters, and now Sam understood why. Had it all been a trick? Just more subterfuge to further the destruction of Samuel, the man Dean had hated so horribly? He looked at the ring, running his finger over its silken cool metal. He recalled all the gifts Dean had bought him, and the announcement he made that they would join in matelotage. The looks from Rufus and Dean's first mate, Bobby, they made sense now. No, it was no trick on Dean's part. Dean loved him. And he loved Dean, but...he could not offer Dean that type of love anymore. It was wrong.

He dug out a chain and slipped the ring Dean had given him onto it. The Vengeance would be coming soon, Sam was fairly certain, perhaps with nightfall, or in the morning if the fog once again lay over the waters like a blinding shroud.

Looking back at his father, Sam shook his head in disgust. He was done with the man. 

Moving over to the trunks lined up against the wall, he grabbed some kitchen sacks he'd stolen and began to load them with the treasure. Over the next hours, he sneaked the treasure to one of the row boats a little bit at a time until he had nearly emptied the chests. Then he filled the chest with heavy items, covering them with a bed of cloth and leaving a layer of coins on top so at first glance, it would not be noticed that most the treasure had been stolen away.

He had his dinner and made sure to ply his father with more alcohol when he roused, telling him lies and making certain with a few supplies he had stolen from the infirmary that his father would sleep through the night quite soundly. When the sun set, Sam crept down to the brig. 

*

Hearing the door scrape open, Dean assumed it was another come to torment him. Earlier, they'd brought him water and left it there, laughing at the fact he couldn't reach for it with his hands bound behind his back. After they'd left, he'd crawled on his belly and tried to drink from the mug. It had tipped over and he'd had to lap up what he could off the dirty floor. His throat was raw and parched but he refused to hope his tormentors would leave more water. 

It was dark and he could barely see, but he felt the presence of the man near him even before the man raised the oil lantern up so he could see his face. Dean's heart contracted, but he gave a cold, careless smile. "Samuel." He practically spat the name out. "Shouldn't you be licking your father's boots instead of risking demonic possession?"

"There is no one about. I have drugged the guards. You needn't act anymore." Sam set the lantern down and cut the rope that bound Dean's arms. "The ransom is aboard a dinghy, at least most of it. I had to leave some to cover over the top of the items I filled the trunk with. I've medical supplies and water and food for you on board as well. I saw to it that the man in the crow's nest also received drugged ale, so he should raise no alert, but we must be careful and hasty. Are you able to walk?" Sam asked, cringing at the damage the whip had done to Dean's body. Tending to Dean would have to wait though. The longer they dallied, the greater the chance of discovery. He rubbed Dean's arms gently as he helped Dean bring them forward.

A bitter laugh erupted from Dean. "You'll have to do better than that. I'm not playing your games." He could already imagine Sam leading him to the door then shoving him back inside. "Be patient and you'll either see me hanging from a rope or all of us will be blown to bloody bits. But by God... I will not fall for your tricks again."

Sam stared at him, his jaw tensing. "You'd have rather I let them keel-haul you? I'm sorry Dean, it was the only thing I could come up with that wouldn't end up with me seeing you dead. Now stop being an ass, or I swear to God I will gag you, throw you over my shoulder and haul you to that boat in a most undignified fashion. C'mon, Sebastian. Wake up and smell the rum."

"Keel..." Dean closed his eyes and couldn't remember any talk of keel-hauling him, but he had been unconscious for a while. When he opened his eyes again, he put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Wait. Look at me. Tell me you choose me over him." He'd seen how amiably they'd walked off deck together. "Tell me."  
"My father is lucky I didn't slice his damned throat while he slept in a drugged stupor. Of course I choose you over him. I despise him in a way I've never hated anyone for what he did to you. But next time I tell you not to do something, listen to me? Please?"

Dean threw an arm around Sam's shoulder and brushed his mouth against Sam's neck. "Let's go home," he said, knowing he couldn't give a promise he'd break the moment they boarded the Vengeance. His wounds were too raw for him to pull Sam closer, but this was enough. "You drugged naval officers... you're as wicked a pirate as any I know, _Sam._ " 

"I just want to get you safe and get the Vengeance away from this damned place and ship," Sam said, blowing out the lamp, then helping Dean to his feet. He supported Dean as best he could as they worked their way up to the deck. Sam pointed out the route to the dinghy that kept them in the shadows.

Feeling naked and exposed without any weapons, Dean was extra vigilant. They saw only two sailors on deck, but managed to hide in the shadows until they could slip by them. He could hardly believe Sam had managed to drug some of the others, including the lookout. It made him damned proud even though he knew Sam would now be wanted for crimes against the crown. 

Grabbing hold of the railing, Dean watched for guards as Sam slowly lowered the small boat down into the water. They threw a rope ladder down over the side and then argued for a precious moment over which of them would go down first. Muttering under his breath, Dean made the climb first, the wind and salt water whipping at his bare back and stinging as if they were delivering fresh wounds.

He dropped down and sat, motioning for Sam to hurry. Once Sam was in the boat, he cut the ropes that had lowered the boat to the water and within a few minutes, the ship had sailed quite a distance from them and they were surrounded by pitch black water. They'd light a lantern, but not quite yet. 

They had drifted in silence for a while, and then it hit Dean what Sam had said. "'Bastion. Not bastard." He started to laugh. At first it was a low rumble, then a full, hearty laugh.

"You just now realized that?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Shhh, how far can voices carry? And how far away do you think the Vengeance is? I mean, how are we going to find her? She's had to stay back far enough not to be seen." Sam didn't like the dark ocean when he was in such a small boat. He really wanted to light up the lantern and start treating Dean's injuries but knew he should wait until Dean said it was safe. Suddenly realizing he hadn't gotten out the food and water for Dean, he dug through one of the packs and pulled out a water skin and held it out to Dean.

"I don't see any lights, other than the Langtree’s. I don't know," Dean admitted. "It's a big ocean. We're just going to have to hope she doesn't pass us in the night, or that she hasn't taken another route." Anything was possible. Taking the water skin, Dean drank greedily from it, then prevented himself from taking more than he needed. "Did you bring more. Water?" Food they could do without, but water would be a problem.

"I've plenty of water, enough I think for four, maybe five days. Same with food, but we might have to ration that more carefully. I knew you would be thirsty so I brought two water skins for you to drink now. I've got soap, water and rum to treat your back, too. I stole a sextant but couldn't lay hands on a map. I was hoping if nothing else, maybe you knew the seas well enough to get us to land without a map if you had the sextant. It's not a very fancy one, but hopefully it's good enough if we can't find the Vengeance." 

"Big ocean." Dean smiled at the trust Sam had in him. "If the Vengeance doesn't come, we'll get to a major shipping lane. Are the oars secured?" he asked. "If not, tie them down. We can't lose them. I'll be fine, but a sheet or blanket would be nice." It would hurt, but the cold and salty air was worse for the moment. He licked his lips, "We'll make it, Sam. One way or the other, we'll make it."

"They're tied down, and I have a spare oar to set upright and put a blanket over to give us some shade come mid-day." Sam felt around. One of the blankets he'd used to help cover the packs, and it had gotten shifted. Finding it, he gently pulled it out from among the things. "You want your coat too? Maybe just to drape over your shoulders?"

"Nah, that'll do," Dean answered, taking the blanket and putting it around him a little gingerly but not complaining. "Thank you." In the dark, he could see Sam lift his chin to look at him. "For this. For being you," he said. "Who else, what other novice could put an escape like this together in such short time. You are amazing, and I'm quite sure you take after your mother."

"It wasn't hard. They pretty much wanted to avoid me and I simply told anyone who questioned my constant pacing about that I'd been chained up the entire time and wanted to enjoy the freedom of no longer being kept in the brig." Sam chewed his lip a moment then asked, "Don't you mean _our_ mother?"

"It was so long ago. Yeah. Our mother." A soft smile played around Dean's lips. "She was sweet, and soft, and nice, but she could roar like a lion when she needed to, and she kept him in check." Reaching for the water skin, he drank a little more and wiped his mouth.

"Miss Sophie told me that Father had once been a loving man, but that everything changed when mother passed. What did I do that made you hate me so? I understand the hate for Father, but I cannot recall ever having met you. I must have been young. And how much older than me are you?" 

"I don't hate you now, that's all that matters." The boat dipped and rose, making him bang against the side. "Guess they didn't have a nice luxurious boat, like ours." Unlike the roomy boat they'd made love in, there was no room for them to sit together in this one, and everything was hard wood; there were no cushioned seats. Not that Dean wasn't used to the lack of luxuries, but that night with Sam had been a good one, and he was sure he would think of it whenever they were in a boat alone.

"No, no fancy rowboat. I do not think I could easily row that boat, not with all the treasure loaded into it as well," Sam said recalling that night, then the knowledge that Dean was his brother reared its head. It wasn't fair. To find a man he loved, would have been happy with forever, but now...he absently fingered the ring on the chain, his mind going places he didn't like. "If I am to spend the day rowing, perhaps I should try to get a few hours of sleep. Are you well enough to keep watch?"   
"Aye, sleep. I'll keep watch." Dean leaned forward and put his hand on Sam's thigh and gave it a squeeze. "Cover up, it's cold."

Sam pulled out a second blanket and covered himself with it, then re-situated himself so he was laying sprawled across the supplies and treasure. Not the most comfortable, but he was tired. He closed his eyes. "Good night, Dean," he said softly.

"G'night Sammy." Dean took deep breaths, knowing it would help to keep him awake and on watch. As the hours wore on, he sometimes hummed to keep sleep at bay, his gaze searching for signs of light or sails or of the sun coming up. At times he looked up at the sky, figuring out their position. He didn't believe they had drifted too far from where they'd set to sea, but it wasn't something he could be sure of. What they needed was a bit of luck. That, and Rufus.

* * * 

Morning came and the light fog cleared quickly. The sun burned hot and Dean got up onto his knees, leaned forward and, spying his hat among the supplies, used it to cover Sam's face. Then he went back to sitting down and watching miles of water for signs of sails. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it, though he did take a few sips of water. Taking a small rag, he dipped it into the ocean water and squeezed it out, then started to clean the wounds on his body. They were mostly welts, but some had bled. He got to the ones he could see and reach, and the burning caused by the salt water not half as bad as it might have been last night. Dipping the rag into the water, he squeezed it over his shoulder, letting water run down over his back and wiping himself as well as he could, then he spread the rag over the edge of the boat to dry. Hearing Sam make some noise, he cocked his head and looked over at him.

Sam groaned in soft complaint as every little lump seemed to be poking into him uncomfortably and he was hot and there was something over his face. He knocked off the thing covering his face and blinked at the sudden bright light, sneezing a couple times. He slowly sat up, grimacing. "I should have brought a bedroll."

He pulled off his coat and looked around at the unending ocean until his gaze came to rest on Dean. "Tell me I wasn't a complete idiot with this rescue attempt. We'll find land or something, right?" 

"You were brave and smart and I couldn't have done better. I still can't believe what you did, this, all on your own. You've more than earned a share of the booty," he grinned, remembering how he'd told Sam that he couldn't have a share of the ransom. "After a vote has been put, of course." 

"I'd rather be adrift with you with no supplies, than be in comfort on that boat with my father." He chuckled at Dean saying he would get a part of the ransom. "Getting a part of my own ransom, that's just plain ironic." He dug through the sacks and pulled out some hard cheese and bread and grapes. He broke off some of each and set them in Dean's lap, then broke off some for himself. "Eat, drink. After that I'll get your back washed and bandaged, then I'll put the oars in and you tell me which way to start rowing. I hope the weather stays good. I don't want to face a storm in this little boat."

"I washed up, but you can check my back. Relax Sam, first we have to wait and see whether the Vengeance comes this way. So, eat, drink, then... I haven't gotten a kiss yet," he said, looking Sam up and down and popping a grape into his mouth, sucking on it and pulling it back out before snagging it with his teeth again and chewing on it.

"Wouldn't it be smart to row in the direction of the Vengeance and away from the Langtree though? They've discovered our absence by now. Do you think they'll turn around and come back for us?" Sam asked. He took a bite of cheese. No, they hadn't kissed...but Dean was his brother. He shouldn't be kissing Dean. Obviously Dean had known all along and it didn't bother him, but Sam, he wasn't sure he could...not knowing what he knew now... "You'll get kissed soon enough. Eat," Sam said around a mouthful of bread.

"Good. I'll eat fast, then," Dean answered, more than happy to shrug off the feeling that Sam was less than enthusiastic. Their situation was serious and it made sense for Sam to be more worried and less amorous. Just because Dean had become used to being kissed and touched by his usually very demonstrative lover, didn't mean Sam could keep it up and act his usual self under the circumstances. 

"We don't know where the Vengeance is. It is my hope that she hasn't passed us in the night. I have a feeling she'll be here soon, but who is to know from which direction?" He gave a shrug. "And aye, there is a good possibility that the Langtree will turn around, but that doesn't change the fact our best chance of rejoining the Vengeance is to stay here, at least until mid-afternoon." 

Sighing, Sam nodded. Dean knew best. He just hated sitting around doing nothing. And he knew what Dean would likely want to do right after he got his back bandaged. Aside from the whole brother issue, the boat was small, well-loaded, and Sam _wasn't_ that good of a swimmer. "Small boats make me a little nervous," Sam finally admitted. "I'd be okay if there was a bigger ship around, but I feel very uncomfortable out here all by ourselves in this tiny boat on this big ocean." Sam ate some more of his breakfast, finishing off the last of his grapes and spitting the seeds overboard.

"You wanted adventure. This..." Dean swept his arm around, "it's an adventure. Perhaps a mermaid will come to our aid and take us to the Vengeance," he suggested with a smile. After he finished the bread and grapes, he took one last sip of water, closed the water skin and put it away. Carefully, he turned around on the bench, trying not to make the boat rock too much. Dropping the blanket he'd been using to shield his wounds from the rays of the sun, he leaned forward to allow Sam to check on his back. 

"Maybe you can call those dolphins that dance on the waves of the bow," Sam said, gripping tightly to the wooden seat as Dean moved. When Dean dropped the blanket, Sam's breath hissed from him. "Maybe I should have let them keel-haul you." Dean's back was a canvas of welts and split skin, some of which looked inflamed. "Your back is getting infected. Probably that filthy cell they had you in. I think I need to wash your back with the soap, then use the rum, then bandage it. The salt water might help too. Maybe you ought to drink some rum first, to help take the edge off before I start."

"I rinsed with salt water this morning," Dean said, unhappy with what Sam had found. "I'll be fine." Turning his head, he brushed his mouth against Sam's. "Remember when I was taking care of your wounds? Tell the truth Sam...you wanted me then, didn't you?" he asked, remembering the heat that had been between them despite the fact that Sam had received the wounds by his own hand.

Sam responded to the light kiss out of habit. "Yes and no," Sam said. "I vaguely recall flirting with you, though I was drunk. When I fell on top of you and looked into your eyes during the storm...that was when it first really began to hit me, when I began to be confused. When we had sex that next day, when we both woke up thinking the other was someone else, I had sex with you because...because I missed Gabriel. Because I could do it without fearing my father would learn of it. By the end, when I was cleaning you and taking your cock in my mouth, it was you I wanted to be with and real feelings were beginning to awaken in me. I was still confused though." Sam dug out the soap and took the cloth Dean had used and left on the edge of the boat. Wetting it in the ocean, he began to generate lather, rolling the soap in the cloth.  
"No. It was before that," Dean said with finality, knowing it was the truth. He took a deep breath and made a face as he felt Sam start to wash him, scrubbing harder than Dean had when washing himself.

"There is a difference between wanting sex, and wanting to be with the one you are having sex with," Sam said. "When it was _you_ and not your sinful body, is when I said. There was fire between us from the start, I will not deny that, but those first few days you weren't of a mind to have an interest in me that way. Were you?" Sam asked, beginning to wonder. He rinsed out the rag and lathered it afresh and continued to carefully but thoroughly wash Dean's injuries.

Dean winced at the pain from a reopened wound. "No. I wasn't interested in anything, even sex. It never crossed my mind because I'd never... What I did to you was punishment, not sex." He dropped his head down and sniffed. He couldn't right that wrong, all he could do was show Sam that nothing like that would happen ever again. 

Sam kissed the back of Dean's neck. "I told you, it's forgotten. Don't punish yourself over it. You're not that man anymore." _But you are my brother...Lord, what am I supposed to do?_ "This is infected. I need to work out the bad fluids. It will hurt," Sam said apologetically and began to work at cleaning away the forming pus. 

Gripping the side of the boat with one hand and the edge of the bench with the other, Dean made no complaint. Each time there was increased pain, his brows furrowed and his grip tightened, or a soft grunt would pass from his lips. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, mentally cursing because it made him feel a little better, and when he opened his eyes, he suddenly smiled. "Look... dolphins. Now that's a good omen!"

Sam looked up and smiled. "Okay, Pirate King. Work your magic. Call them over and tell them to bring the Vengeance to us. Or convince them to wear harnesses and take us to your ship," he teased. He rinsed out the rag and then began using it to squeeze saltwater over Dean's back to rinse away the soap and dirt and infection. 

"Done. My magic is loosed," Dean announced, hoping with all his heart for a bit of good luck. This could not be the end, it would not. Nor did he want Sam to suffer for days at sea before they were rescued. "You done?" He looked over his shoulder.

"Just the rum left to pour over the wounds and then I need to bandage you up. I want you to drink some more water and to get some rest. We can set up the spare oar and blanket to give you some shade."

"I've had enough water, we need to ration. Don't worry about me, if I need anything, I'll say it. Ah... sonova...." he hissed as the rum burned his flesh, every muscle in his body tensing. Reaching behind him, he took the bottle from Sam, knowing full well it wasn't a good idea to drink it but taking a few swigs anyway, before corking it and putting it down. "Be done with it." Gritting his teeth, he held his arms away from Sam to allow him to do the bandaging, but he was clearly impatient.  
"And I told you I brought extra water for you that you haven't even finished yet." Sam slapped a water skin into Dean's hand. "Drink at least a third of that," he said. "Doctor's orders." He began bandaging Dean's injuries, being as efficient as he could.

Making a show of taking a few sips, Dean put the skin back down. Once Sam had put in the final knot and he felt Sam moving to sit back on the other bench, he grasped his wrist. "Uh uh. We have some unfinished business," he said, his voice going husky as he slowly turned, trying not to make the boat lurch. The sight of Sam balancing on his knees had him sucking his breath in. "I'll be taking that kiss we'd planned to show your father," he said, eyes burning brightly. 

Sam felt his breath catch in his chest. He wanted to. He wanted to kiss Dean again. He knew he shouldn't, but who knew if they'd even be rescued? He would not spend his last few days 'alone.' If they were rescued, he would deal with it then he decided. Sam smiled and carefully leaned forward. "Kiss me then, as if my father were watching."

Dean put his hands on Sam's hips, slowly moving his hands up and down Sam's sides. Stretching up a little, he kissed the hollow at the base of Sam's neck and slowly worked his way up to his jaw. It slammed into him, thoughts of how lucky they were to have made their escape, and thoughts of how he'd thought he'd lost Sam to his father. As ridiculous as that seemed now, it had been so real. "Fuck your father. Fuck everyone. This is about us," he said, "how _I_ want to kiss you. Always," he growled, one hand lifting behind Sam's head and pulling him down roughly. The boat dipped, water almost reaching its edge before it righted itself.   
"Mine." Dean's mouth locked over Sam's in a hungry kiss that claimed him. He tasted salt and rum and his lover, his brother, and he couldn't get enough. Deepening the kiss, he engaged Sam's tongue in a heated battle, moaning as he pulled him closer and felt his shirt scrape against his chest. "Mine, Sam, I won't doubt again. Always mine," he rasped between kisses.

"I love you," Sam whispered. "No matter what, I always will." He kissed Dean back with all the love he felt, forcing away the knowledge he was his brother. For this moment, Dean was the Pirate King and not Dean Winchester. _God forgive me,_ Sam prayed as he wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder and rested the other on Dean's hip, _God forgive me._

When he felt the heat between them growing, and felt his own cock begin to harden, Sam broke the kiss. "No. No. You need rest and...and we can't afford to risk tipping the boat or getting water in the supplies."

"Ungh... won't tip the boat, promise," Dean said between panted breaths, refusing to allow Sam to pull away. He brought their mouths together again, at first in a gentle kiss geared to persuade. As he made love to Sam, caressing him and holding him close, the heat erupted between them again. He tried to drag Sam down on top of him, to make him straddle his hips, but Sam was resisting. "Boat will be fine, Sam, I promise," he said, still trying to reposition Sam. 

Sam didn't want to risk fighting too hard, fearing the boat would rock. "Love...please, for me, rest," Sam said, wanting nothing more than to give Dean exactly what he wanted. "I want you, I do, more than anything. Rest, then we will move supplies, and then I will give you what we both want. I love you, my Sebastian, my land ahoy." He kissed Dean passionately then broke it off once again. "Love you, want you always, but right now, rest," he insisted, feeling his own resolve begin to weaken.

"I wasn't going to exert myself," Dean answered, reluctantly releasing Sam, raking his fingers lightly down his chest and stopping short of touching him where his cock clearly strained against his trousers. "Alright Doctor, I'm resting. Watch for sails," he said, rolling up part of the blanket covering him and using it as a pillow against the side of the boat. He was exhausted, and his body hurt. But that didn't mean he couldn't be horny or want Sam. Now he just had to master his body's desires and get some sleep. "If you change your mind, wake me."

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief even though his cock wanted the attention Dean promised. Sam took his hand and brought it to his lips. "Patient welfare before doctor's desires," Sam said, smiling against Dean's palm as he kissed it. After settling himself on the bench, he watched the oceans around him, humming softly to himself, trying to forget the decision he would soon have to make.


	13. Chapter 13

The ocean was mesmerizing and the sun glinting off of it was blinding at times. Though it was hot, Sam drank sparingly from the water he'd brought and ate some fruit, cheese, and salted pork. When, by late afternoon, Dean hadn't awakened, Sam checked on him only to discover a fever had set in. Carefully he shifted supplies around and then stripped Dean down, keeping his flesh cool with ocean water. A few times, he managed to get Dean to wake up enough to drink some water, but Dean would drop back into a fevered sleep almost immediately. As the hours passed, he grew more concerned. Taking off the bandages, he doused Dean's back with salt water and sometimes with rum, trying to rinse away the fever and the infection.

When the sun began to set and Dean had only grown worse, Sam lit the lantern, hoping a passing ship might see it. If the Langtree came back, then he vowed to take Dean and the treasure with him to the depths below, dying in the ocean with his Sebastion, just like in the song. He would not give Dean back to them. Ever.

He sang "Yo-Ho Sebastion," to Dean along with any other songs he could think of as he tried to comfort the captain. It was past midnight, he was certain, when he thought he heard something out in the dark. The lantern limited his sight, but he turned the flame up higher and began loudly singing out every sea chanty he could recall, hoping the ongoing changing pitches and his constant voice would catch someone's attention if it was a ship out there. But if it was a ship, then why didn't Sam see any lights?

Sam's singing cut through his fevered haze. Dean forced his eyes open and gripped the side of the boat, forcing himself up into a sitting position. Licking his dry lips, he looked around. "I'll take over now," he offered. Leaning to one side, he cupped the sea water in his hands and started to splash his face, a chill going through him. Just as he wiped the water from his face and eyes, he saw something gleam under the moonlight. "Sam... ship... sails, Sam," he said pointing. "Get your dagger, or anything shiny, hold it next to the lantern. Need to give them a sign," he said, searching the area around himself to see if there was anything he could use. Please. Please let it be the Vengeance.

Sam pulled his dagger out and, carefully standing, he picked up the lantern and began rocking and moving the blade, trying to get it to glint in the direction Dean had pointed. "Over here!" he shouted. "Dean, there's spare oil in there." He nodded to a bag near Dean's foot. "Get some out. We can spill it into the water and then light it up. Over here!" he shouted again. "Help!"

It was a dangerous gamble, but they had to attract attention before the ship sailed by. Dean found the oil, stretched and poured some out, hoping it wouldn't dissipate too fast. Carefully, he struck flint and steel, lighting up a narrow strip of oil dipped cloth, then threw it over the side of the boat, setting the water on fire. Dean's blanket was now draped across his lap, ready to be used to smother the flames if the boat accidentally caught fire. He'd also found a mug and was using it to bang a steady beat against the side of the boat. "Over here. We need help. Here!"

"I think they're turning but I can't tell for sure," Sam said, going back to trying to get the knife to glint in the light. The wind, which had been fairly calm, was beginning to pick up. If the ocean waters started to swell, they would be that much harder to see. The only good thing was that the wind was blowing toward the ship which meant it might help carry their voices. Sam was beginning to get hoarse from yelling but he doggedly continued to call out.

Dean raised his voice and poured more oil. The boat dipped down and all signs of the ship disappeared for a few heart beats, then when they climbed to the crest of the next wave, it appeared again, now much closer. "They saw us," he said, letting out a sigh of relief at the dotting of lights that began to appear as more of those on board lit lanterns. He stared at the ship, trying to make it out as it got closer, then a broad smile split his face. "It's her. It's the Vengeance. I knew it, I told you the dolphins were a good sign, that and my magic." Reaching out, he caught Sam's hand and squeezed it. "Back on course. The impossible is possible."

"It's the Vengeance?" Sam almost cried with relief. "Thank God. Thank God," he said, easing himself back down to sit on the bench since the swells were growing. The last thing he wanted was to go tumbling out of the boat. He kept the lantern held high though so the ship could more easily see them in the dark.

As the ship neared, they could hear shouts of "Captain!" Dean waved back at his crew though he couldn't yet make one of them out from the other. A few minutes later, he told Sam they needed to row, to pull alongside the ship. He let Sam row a little, then took the oars from him since he had more experience. Each stroke of the oars strained his skin, pulling it tight and making every inch of flesh that had been flogged and reddened by the sun burn all over again. "Put your weight a bit to the right," he said, rowing with relentless determination until they were exactly where they needed to be.

The crew threw some ropes down. He and Sam secured the boat so it couldn't float away, then started to climb the rope ladder up the side of the ship. Others would take their place and make sure the boat and treasures were brought aboard.

When he and Sam were finally on deck, loud cheers erupted from the men. Dean slapped Rufus on the back. "Yer a sight for sore eyes. I could kiss you."

"I don't think my wife would like that," Rufus said, shaking his head. "You're a surprise. How did you..."

Dean nodded toward Sam. "I think Sam will treat you all to a tale of deceit and drugging and escape, like none you have heard. He will make a fine pirate. And... he secured the treasure."

Another roar erupted from the men.

"We're about fifteen hours behind them," Dean said, suddenly getting back down to business even though he was gripping the railings just to be able to stand. "The wind is good, let's go catch those bastards."

"But Captain we have the treasure. What else--"

"Rufus, we will catch them. And where is the Constance?" Dean asked about the other ship that had been called in to join them for the original meeting.

"Two hours behind us, slightly east."

"Good. Alfred, I need--"

"Aye sir, I'll have water for washing up and wine and food." Alfred looked Dean over, smiled, then patted Sam's arm. "Good to see you back and safe from harm, sir."

"Dean, you need to be in the infirmary or laying down in your cabin. You've got a fever. I need to get poultices made and put on your back to draw out the sickness," Sam said. He ruffled Alfred's hair and smiled at him then turned back to Dean and Rufus once the rest of the crew went back to work. "Just let them go. What do you hope to accomplish? It's foolishness and fever madness. You're in no condition to fight with a sword if it comes to that."

"They broke their word. They killed three of my men..." Looking at Rufus, he could tell the number had climbed higher. "I have a reputation to uphold. I will bring that man... all of them to their knees," he said without a hint of weakness. "I'll rest, but we are going after that ship."

Sam couldn't say anything to that. Those men had been people he knew, cut down in a breach of contract. Pirates weren't exactly well known for gentlemen's agreements, but he had no idea what demands Dean might have made outside of the letter he had Sam write.

"Fine. Then get to your cabin. I'll get the poultices made up and be there shortly. And you need to drink more water. We've got to get your fever to break."

"Aye Captain," Dean said, half-jokingly but with an edge to his tone. "Rufus, I'm fine. Takes more than a light flogging and a day at sea to get the best of the Pirate King."

"Save it for the men," Rufus answered in a sharp whisper. "Dean... Captain, you're in no condition to--"  
"Ship ahoy, Captain... ship... ship!" the lookout called, pointing in an easterly direction.

Immediately, Alfred was at Dean's side, passing him a spyglass. Dean put it to his eye and watched, moving it around until he had the other ship in his sight. It wasn't the Constance, not that he thought it would be. It was the Langtree. "She's coming for us." Giving a low laugh, he nodded. "Good. Makes it easier. She's coming against the wind, I estimate an hour. Prepare for battle. Now."

He started for the stairs, needing to get clothes on. "Sam, if you wear shackles you can claim you aided me under force, if it becomes necessary. Which it won't," he added with confidence.

"Don't be daft," Sam said. "I drugged my father, the lookout, and your guards. I stole the ransom and several other supplies and then rescued you from the brig. How was it under force unless you cast a spell on me, which my father could well believe, but that captain and any court will find the claims ridiculous. Besides, you need a doctor working the deck during the battle. Go, eat, and drink a lot of water. I'll be up with bandages and some soothing salves to ease the pain. I want to clean your back again as well." Without waiting for a response from Dean, he headed for the infirmary. "Water!" he called over his shoulder at Dean a final time before disappearing below deck.

*

A short time later, after Sam had cleaned his wounds once more and he'd had food and water, Dean stood up. Alfred brought him a shirt. A red one. Dean cocked his head. "What's this?"

"I bought it for you in port," Sam said, smiling almost a little shyly. "I think now would be a good time to wear it, don't you?" He took it from Alfred and held it up for Dean to slip in to.

"It's not my color," Dean said, putting his arms through the sleeves, regardless. "But it might make me more visible to the enemy. Surely seeing me will make your father truly believe I am the devil's spawn."

"Do you think they will attack while it is still dark? Perhaps you should stay in black if that's the case," Sam said, suddenly having second thoughts about the red shirt for Dean. He didn't want to make Dean a target. It was only an allusion to the joke Dean had told him those weeks ago and meant more to be private joke between them.

"If they don't, we will." Pulling the shirt all the way on, Dean tugged the ties and started to knot them. He felt Alfred come up behind him, turned, and saw his coat. He shook his head. "No coat, back is still sore. Get my belt and my sword. And remind me to get my damned flintlocks back."  
Sam felt Dean's forehead and sighed. "I want you laying down until you have to be up for the battle. You need to save every bit of strength for it. And I'll make certain the flintlocks aren't forgotten. Do you plan to board their ship?"

"You're making Alfred obsolete." Once his belt was on, Dean cupped Sam's chin, pulled him close, and kissed him senseless, then pushed him onto the bed. "You rest for me." He chuckled, seeing the look in Sam's eyes. "Alfred," he nodded and was handed a cutlass. "I want my own cutlass back, too."

"Aye, Sir." Alfred stole a look at Sam, then once Dean walked out, he gave the man a hand and pulled him up off the bed. "There's no resting before battle," he said gently. "The Captain has to make his speech and make sure the lads are ready. If half of what he said about your escape is true, you're a right brave hero and I'll be proud to serve you as well as the Captain." He had already been essentially serving Sam without extra pay and would continue to do so without complaint.

"Thank you, Alfred. I just did what I had to do to get Dean out of there. I guess...I guess I need a cutlass, too. Are there any? Or mine that was with my things? Is it still here?"

"I'll get it." Alfred scrambled to get to the chest of Sam's belongings. Looking inside, he found it wasn't there. "Must be in the armory, I'll find it," he promised. "You've been out in the sun all day and you're quite cooked yourself. Perhaps you should take your own advice and have some food and water and a bit of a rest. You've not stopped since you got back aboard." With that, Alfred ducked out of the room.

Sam looked at himself in the mirror. Alfred was right, he was quite red. He settled at the table and did just as Alfred suggested.

* * *

Less than three hours later, the two ships waged a brutal battle. The pitch black of the night sky and the vast ocean was lit up by cannonballs and fires. The smell of sulphur tinged the air, as did that of blood and burnt flesh.

The center guns of the Vengeance initially hurled chain shots, smaller canon balls attached to each other with chains. Rufus oversaw the efforts, and, with unheard of precision even had it been day, the chain shots struck the sails and mast of the Langtree, tearing and tying up its sails and rendering them useless. But when the Langtree returned fire with bundle shots that sprayed shrapnel, the goal of capturing the Langtree became secondary. It was a fight to avenge deaths and injuries caused by the fearsome weapons geared specifically to kill as many as possible in one fell swoop.

"Come on, lads, reload at double speed," Dean shouted. "Fire!"

The Vengeance shuddered. Some of the cannon balls struck only water, lighting it up with loud splashes. Others struck timber and people, eliciting shouts and screams and return fire.

The cannons were swabbed, reloaded and pushed forward, erupting again and again.

Once the smoke billowing from the cannons cleared, Dean shouted new orders. The boarding party prepared themselves. Some of them were handed loaded thunder guns that were so powerful that they had to be fired from the hip or some other body part which could handle the recoil. They would spread pellets over a large area and hopefully push back or put out of commission the men on the Langtree assigned to stop boarding efforts.

Grapple hooks were thrown and muskets fired at those on the Langtree who tried to cut the ropes.

"Captain, her guns!"

"Fire," Dean called out. "Fire!" At close range, the cannons fired with deadly accuracy, knocking out many of the Langtree's guns and gunners.

Finding Sam at his elbow, Dean turned his head and gave him a grim smile. "This is it. Victory is within reach. Stay here, on board the Vengeance. I..." Seeing the moment had come, Dean broke off and headed for the railing.

Groups of men brought boarding planks to the side, shouting as they built make-shift bridges. The first wave of shots were fired from the Vengeance, pushing back the Langtree's crew amidst shouts of pain. The pirates began to board, running over the planks and swinging from ropes off their own masts. A few got behind a group of naval officers and threw glass hand grenades. The sight of officers going down elicited a loud cheer from the pirates.

Sounds of gunfire were heard less often as there was no time to reload. Instead, the clash of swords became prominent. The deck of the Langtree was covered in blood, yet the struggle went on. Bodies of the dead and injured littered the area.

Finally, a call for mercy had Dean shouting, "Avast. Avast," and ordering his men to hold fast but stop the fighting. For another five minutes, there was the odd skirmish here and there, but eventually all was quiet and the ship and its crew was under the Pirate King's control.

The pirates started to search the Langtree, finding and dragging out to the deck passengers and crew who had hidden. At the same time, Dean started the process of lightening the Langtree's load, stripping her of sails and other hardware that might be needed to fix the Vengeance, and taking weapons, cannonballs and gunpowder. When his men asked about food and water supplies, Dean met the eyes of Captain Richards, giving him a steely look, before shaking his head 'no.'

The skies started to brighten and the sails of another ship was seen. After Rufus confirmed that it was their companion ship, the Constance, Dean rolled his eyes at the lateness of her arrival.

"Captain, the Governor's been found hiding inside some petticoats."

Ruckus laughter followed as the Lord Governor was dragged onto the deck. Dean was sure his own men had forced women's clothes on John Winchester, pulling it over his own clothing. The man was sputtering angrily when he was thrown at Dean's feet.

Laughing, Dean waited until his father fought to stand, and then kicked him in the chest, sending him back down to the deck. The glint of light Dean spied in his father's hand had Dean moving just as his father fired a small pistol. Giving no reaction or sign if the bullet had met its mark, Dean gave a broad smile as his men knocked his father down, took the pistol away and kicked and beat him like an animal. By the time he raised his hand, the Governor was bleeding from his mouth, one of his eyes was half-swollen, and he was looking at Dean in horror.

"Aye, cross yourself old man, cross yourself all you like. I am come from hell. Again."

John Winchester spit blood out of his mouth. "What do you want of me demon-spawn?" he whispered. "You should be dead thrice over. Leave me be, devil! Leave me be!"

"You have no shame. No regret." A hard light entered Dean's eyes. "Throw him overboard. Let the sharks have him."

"No! You can't!" the Governor screamed, fighting as the pirates lifted him up and began dragging him to the rail. "Mary was wrong! I was right! This proves you were touched by the devil!"

"An eye for an eye. Isn't that what you always said?" Dean asked. Moving in, he leaned close to the Governor's ear and whispered the words he'd heard his father speak so long ago. "Whip the devil out of him then take him far, give him away, sell him, or drown him." Pulling back, he ignored the pleas from the Captain of the Langtree, and merely motioned for his men to do the deed, watching with cold eyes as the man he'd once called 'father' was thrown backwards into the cold waters.

Sam had crossed over to the Langtree once the fighting stopped and been busy helping the injured, still was, when he heard his father's cry as he was thrown overboard. He ran to the side of the ship and looked into the sea and saw him there, bobbing up and down in the waves.

The captain found out about us  
and ordered them to throw,  
us both overboard tonight  
together we will go...

Sam sang the verse softly then whispered. "Goodbye father. I'll see you in Hell, with both Gabriel and Dean at my side." He turned away from the railing, his eyes taking on a coldness they hadn't held before. He returned to treating the injured, pushing thoughts of his father out of his mind. If his father lived, knowing Sam had betrayed him, he would no doubt ensure his friends would pay for that betrayal with their own lives. Thoughts of what would happen to his friends or any he had ever shown kindness to, ate at him as he treated two more patients. Aside from the danger to his friends, he had no doubt his father would use every favor, every shilling and pence, to see Dean was hunted all of his days.

Once he finished with the last wounded in front of him for the moment, he closed his eyes and pulled out his unused pistol, gripping it tightly for a moment before standing up.

Sam walked to the railing and looked into the dark water, seeing his father treading water there, hanging on to some floating debris. His jaw clenched and he raised the pistol. "For my friends, who you'll surely kill if you live. For Gabriel. For Dean. ...for me." He fired at the form in the water, once, twice, and hearing the man cry out, he watched as his father's hold loosened on the debris. The man soon stopped moving as a stain darkened the water around the body of John Winchester.

Turning away from the railing, Sam returned to his doctor's bag, then suddenly found himself heaving on the deck, throwing up the food he'd eaten earlier.

Dean had seen Sam shoot at their father but had been busy speaking with Rufus and Captain Adam of the Constance. It had been agreed that Adam would maroon the crew of the Langtree, leaving them with the food and water they had aboard, but tow the ship and confiscate it and its other contents. Since the Vengeance had done all of the work, payment would exchange hands. Glancing over the side of the ship, he saw that John Winchester was dead, killed by his son, just as the old gypsy had promised.

Walking over to Sam, Dean leaned over him, the wound at his side gushing more blood. "Sam... Sammy, it's alright," he said, patting his back, then taking the cup of water Alfred had brought and offering it to Sam. "It's over. For both of us, it's over. He's gone, and we have each other. The way it was meant to be," he crooned, running his fingers through Sam's hair.

Sam took the cup with a shaking hand, rinsed out his mouth, and spit the befouled water out onto the deck. He did this until only a couple swallows were left and that last bit of water he drank. He slowly rose and looked at Dean. His eyes widened when he saw the growing wet spot on Dean's shirt. He practically ripped the shirt open.

"What happened," Sam demanded.

"Red shirt. Worked," Dean grinned, though he knew that with a bullet in him, he stood about as good a chance of dying as he did living. If the entire ball were found and pulled out, his odds would be much better. "Sam... not here," he said, tucking the shirt back in.

Rufus had made his speech and a few volunteers decided to join the Vengeance and to lead the life of a pirate. Dean turned to Captain Adams. "Take what you want, then sink the Langtree," he said. The sounds of protests and fear from the crew of the Langtree were exactly what he wanted. "It's what happens when you take up arms against the Pirate King." It was a message that the soon-to-be-marooned men would take with them when they were rescued and believed they'd been saved by Adam's mercy, and not Dean's.

Putting one arm around Sam and hooking his hand over his shoulder, Dean gave him a nod and together they walked to the planks that would take him back to the Vengeance. "It was a good battle, and a good end," he said.  
"I'm just glad it's over. Let's get you to quarters," Sam said. "Alfred, bring the regular medical kit from the infirmary to the captain's quarters." Sam stayed right behind Dean and made sure he made it across the makeshift bridge to the Vengeance without falling off. He helped Dean up the steep stairs and got him to his quarters. By then, Alfred was there with the medical pack.

Sam put canvas down on the bed then helped Dean onto the bed. "You're not to wear a red shirt ever again," Sam told him firmly. "Never. Alfred, get me two of the senior men. I'm going to have to dig this bullet out and see what damage it did inside him. I'll need someone to help hold him down." He turned to Dean and handed him a bottle of rum while he held a bandage over the wound until he had some help.

"It's but a scratch," Dean said, chugging the alcohol down and groaning when Sam put pressure on the wound. "Don't look so worried. I won't leave you now," Dean promised, taking a few more swigs and wiping his mouth. He could tell from Sam's expression that it was bad.

A few men walked in with Alfred behind them, lugging a large pot of boiled water and rags.

"'Ave some more, Capt'n," one of the men said, nodding at the bottle. "Is it in his flesh or lodged in bone," he asked Sam, hoping it was the former.  
"Too much blood to tell. I didn't want to start looking until I had everything ready." Sam turned to Dean. "We can't wait until you're drunk. You're losing blood and I have to get in there, get the ball out, and get the damage sewn up. We could try to knock you unconscious," Sam suggested hesitantly.

"Get on with it. I'll be fine," Dean answered, drinking as much as he could take before passing the bottle and allowing his head to fall down on the pillow. He could feel the blood spreading over his belly and winced as Sam moved him into a slightly different position.

The door barged open and Rufus walked in. "God damn it, Dean, if you went and got yourself killed..."

"You'll have the chance to say 'I told you so,'" Dean finished for him.

"You take care of the Captain," Rufus ordered Sam. "Get it out of him, all its parts."

"I will," Sam said as he washed his hands then poured rum over them. He set up the implements he would need for surgery, making sure everything was ready. He knew he would need to be fast once he started.

Satisfied he had everything at hand, Sam nodded to the men. One sprawled across Dean's lower legs while the others held his arms and shoulders down. They all ignored Dean's cursing.

Pulling off the bandage, Sam went to work, using the boiled water to wash around the wound, then pouring rum into it.

Dean's body bowed upwards, off the mattress. Several pairs of hands suddenly pressed him back down. Someone offered a folded belt and Dean quickly bit down on it.

Sam took a sharp scalpel and cut into Dean's side, opening up the wound so he could see, packing it with rags to help keep the blood from blocking his view. "Alfred, magnifying glass," Sam snapped. "Hold it over the wound. I need more light."

"Aye, Sir." Giving the glass to Sam, he held the lantern up over Dean, making a face at the sopping wet rags soaked in blood.

Sam used his fingers to dig inside the wound, searching desperately.

The veins stood out on Dean's throat as he groaned out his pain. His body was shiny with sweat, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead. He shuddered as Sam's fingers went deeper, his eyes rolling back slightly. "Arghhhh..." The hands didn't allow him to flinch away from Sam's relentless fingers searing his insides.

"Hang on, Dean, I've got to be thorough. I know it hurts. Just hang on," Sam soothed him as best he could. Feeling something hard, Sam marked its place and quickly reached for the forceps and used it to grab hold of the bullet and pull it out.

After rinsing it off and studying it a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. "It's intact," he announced, then started to pour alcohol into the incision.

The men holding Dean broke out into smile. "'E's got it, Captain. 'E's got it."

"You're lucky," Sam said, grateful he didn't have to dig around anymore in Dean's insides. "We're almost done, but I've got to stop the bleeding and I can't sew the damage up. It'll have to be by fire," Sam said apologetically.

Dean's half-smile fell away as Sam used a hot iron to cauterize his wound and stop the bleeding. The pain was worse than getting shot or getting probed. Dean bit down harder on the leather and almost kicked one of the men off him. The red hot metal touched again and again. The smell of metallic blood and burnt flesh hung in the air.

"I'm done with the hot iron, I'm done. Just breathe," Sam told Dean, putting the iron back into the bucket of burning coals. Once he wiped away the blood and could see better, he stitched up part of the incision. Doc had told him it was best to leave some of it open to let bad fluids out and to be able to pour in rum. He used more boiled rags and then bandaged the wound.

"I'm done, Captain," Sam said. "No moving. Full bed rest. If you break open the wounds I cauterized, I may not be able to fix them again. I mean it, absolutely no moving or I'll order you restrained. Alfred, you stay with the captain. If his bandages soak through, come get me. If he tries to get up or move, you yell for Rufus or Bobby and keep him in bed, whatever it takes. Keep cool wet cloths on his forehead. I've others I need to treat."

Sam washed his hands again as he'd learned from the lay-healers that tended the servants back at home, and then headed back out. The most gravely injured had been moved to the infirmary so Sam started there.

* * *

Sam finally finished tending the wounded and went up on deck. He needed to get away from the infirmary, from the moans and groans he could do nothing for. He'd go back and check on them soon, but he needed to step away and clear his head and clear his lungs. He saw Rufus and waved him over.

"I've done what I could. I lost one. Doc probably could have saved..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"We all do our best and we'd have been a lot worse off without you," Rufus answered. "You've acquitted yourself well. Proved yourself and showed your loyalty," he admitted. "You there, fetch the doctor something to eat and drink," he said, pointing at one of the many men working to set the deck back to order.

"Just some watered-wine," Sam called after the man. He looked at Rufus. "Not really hungry right now." After a long pause he spoke softly. "I learned who Dean is. Who he really is. To me. I...I don't think I can stay on after Dean's well enough not to need a doctor. I love him. I love him so damned much but...dammit..."

"What?" Rufus rested his arms on the railing and looked out at sea. "You haven't told him, have you?" It wasn't a question.

"No. I don't intend to tell anyone but you. You know who he is. I don't know that anyone else on-board does except maybe Bobby. I'll write him a goodbye letter but...I'm afraid if I tell him face-to-face, I won't have the strength to leave. I just...he's my brother, Rufus. How can I stay with him, love him the way he deserves to be loved, knowing that?" He felt his eyes sting as tears tried to escape.

"You'd abandon him twice?" Rufus took a deep breath. "This was... it was his dream. To take back a piece of himself. Now... I'm not sure we've gained anything." He turned and looked at Sam. "If you can't forget that...detail... we'll be in port in three to four days time."

"I never knew I had a brother, Rufus. I never abandoned him. Whatever I did to him that made him hate me so much, I can't make amends for, because I don't remember it. If I'd known he was my brother, I never would have turned my back on him." He gave a weak smile. "Like as not, I'd have run off with him, escaping my father. But I can't be the piece of himself that he recovers. He has to find that within himself. I'm his brother. It's not some trivial matter. It's incest. And I can't...the Bible..." He swallowed hard and felt the tears slide down his cheek. "If my letter doesn't convince him, you've got to tell him how much I love him, how much I don't want to leave him, how I'd die for him, but I just can't live with knowing I'm having an intimate relationship with my brother...And I don't want any of the ransom. I don't want him or the crew thinking I did any of this for part of it. I'll take the wages for being your doctor but no more than that. Tell everyone else I'm sorry, that I decided I couldn't do this after all, especially after killing my father. I had to leave to try to deal with my sin. With all my sins. It's really not so far from the truth."

"I'm a God fearing man, myself. I don't know what I'd do in your place and I'm not judging you for doing what your conscious tells you to. But I will tell you that that man in there has been left the wrong way twice before. I don't know if leaving the right way would make a difference, I can't say. But I can say, without a doubt in my mind, nothing will convince him you love him, nothing. He'll survive, he'll do it his way. You've already had a taste of his way." He clapped his hand on Sam's back, and lifted the mug of wine off the tray that was brought. "Drink this down. I'll assign someone else to take care of the Captain, to relieve Alfred."

"Is there a right way to tell someone you can't stay?" Sam asked softly. "No, I'll go stay with him for a while. Have someone watch over the crew in the infirmary, come get me if there's a problem. I want...I want all the time with him I can steal." Sam tossed back the wine then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He handed Rufus the empty mug and, shoulders drooping, he went in to relieve the cabin boy and sit by the man he loved.

* * *

Hot. It was so hot. He was burning up. A sheen of sweat covered him from head to foot.

Dean tossed and turned, groaning at the pain in his side. He fought, pushing away hands that touched his forehead. Forcing open his eyes, he sometimes saw Sam and sometimes Alfred, sopping up the sweat on his body, rinsing him with cool water. Forcing him to drink. Sometimes he understood they were helping. At other times, he argued and fought them.

Then there were the shakes. He would freeze like he'd been in the ocean too long. His teeth chattered. He begged for blankets and cursed when he was only offered one. Then he'd see Sam again, hear his soothing voice and calm down for a while.

He thought he heard prayers offered out loud. Pleas to save him. He shook his head, tried to say they weren't necessary. That no one was listening, that he would fight his own way back. But over and over, he opened his eyes to the sight of Sam on his knees next to the bed, sometimes with Dean's hand held between his own as he begged favors from a heaven that did not exist.

Day turned into night. Night turned into day. And then it was night again.

He heard the faint sounds of music and singing and listened harder.

Weigh heigh and up she rises  
Weigh heigh and up she rises  
Weigh heigh and up she rises  
Earl-aye in the morning

What'll we do with a drunken sailor,  
What'll we do with a drunken sailor,  
What'll we do with a drunken sailor,  
Earl-aye in the morning?

Smiling, Dean rolled onto his side and reached for Sam. "They've got the words wrong. Handsome sailor, not drunken," he rasped.

Sam's eyes shot open. "Dean!" He kissed Dean hard, cupping Dean's face between his hands. "Damn you. You scared us all. I feared God was going to take you." Sam sat up from where he lay beside Dean and grabbed the mug of water sitting on the table by the bed. "Let's get some water down you, now that your fever has broken and you're not sweating yourself to death. Are you hungry? I don't want you having more than some broth with some potatoes. Nothing hard or harsh for at least another week, not until your gut is healed up proper."

Obediently, Dean drank down some of the water. "Not hungry, no." He waited for Sam to put the mug down, then caught a handful of his shirt and pulled him down. "Come, kiss me again. Let's scandalize Alfred, hmm?"

"You've just come out of a very bad fever. Your insides are still healing. For God's sake, man, your back is still healing. You need to behave," Sam scolded him. He untangled Dean's hand from his shirt and gave him a light kiss on the lips. "So behave, Sebastion."

"You're worse than Doc was. A cross between Doc and a captain, what with all the orders." He smiled. "Tell me what's been happening. Are we headed to port?" The sounds of merriment told him all was well, else he would have asked to speak with Rufus.

"Yes, we're headed to port. The ship is mostly patched up. It's been smooth sailing, good wind, quiet waters, no enemy ships. I lost one man to surgery, and one to fever." Pain filled his eyes. "Thought I was going to lose you too." He ran his hand along Dean's cheek and looked at him lovingly. "Rufus has everything under control so you don't need to worry about anything except healing. You're not to be on your feet for a few more days. You're not to sit up or stress your abdomen. You've still got an open wound, to let bad fluids drain, so we have to be careful."

"Aye Captain," Dean joked, in turn reaching up and stroking Sam's face, wishing he could wipe away the sadness and worry. "You did your best, it was their fate." He asked a few more questions about the identities of the men they'd lost, both in the battle and in the aftermath. Then he demanded Sam tell him again how he accomplished the rescue, enjoying the sound of his voice and imagining him tricking the crew of the Langtree. When he fell into a peaceful sleep, it was with a smile on his face.

*

Dean counted two meals, though they were but broth and bread, and then Sam had him on the upper deck. Alfred pour buckets of lukewarm water over him as Sam washed him clean and finally stitched closed the wound. Insisting on a shave, Dean bought himself a few more minutes outside his quarters while Alfred efficiently wielded a sharp blade over his face.

Then Sam helped him slowly make his way back to his quarters. As Dean got into bed, he grasped Sam's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his palm. "Don't run away again," he said, his voice a little husky. "A few kisses won't hurt me, I swear it," he promised.  
Sam settled into the chair beside Dean's bed, holding his hand. "But I wouldn't want to stop at a few kisses," Sam admitted. "Dean, I love you. Never doubt that. No matter what, never doubt that. Swear it. Swear that you believe me." He kissed Dean's palm, eyes begging Dean to say those words he so needed to hear.

"Why would I doubt you when you've done all you promised?" He swallowed at the feel of Sam's moist lips on his palm. "I promise. Even when you exasperate me," he added glaring at him. "Why won't you sleep by me? I'm fresh and clean now and the bed sheets have been changed. It can't be my stench that chases you away."

"You are still healing. And I would want more than just sleeping by you. I already want you. Miss you. Miss being in your arms and you in mine." Sam fought back the tears that tried to fill his eyes. "I can't do it. Your welfare must come first." He closed his eyes and breathed in Dean's scent, kissing Dean's palm again and again. "See, just a taste of you and I can't stop."

"There's nothing wrong with my hand. I can give you more," Dean said, rubbing his thumb across Sam's lips. "And there's nothing wrong with my lips. If it's your medical ethics that prevent you, I will happily fire you. Come Sam. Come to bed. Come kiss me." Watching Sam's upturned face, his eyes closed, his yearning doubled. "Come to me, come to me Sam."

Drawing in a ragged breath, Sam shook his head. "No," he whispered. "You have just come out of the fever, it has been but a few days since my fingers prod deep inside you and extracted a bullet. You must rest. Fire me if you will, but it won't change my decision. I'll not risk your life, not again. I did not want to let you rise to leave here to bathe, but it was for the best, to get you up and moving, if only for a few moments. Those moments are past and now you much once again rest. I will read to you, or tell you stories, or sing for you. Or I will send in Rufus to sit with you for he is likely the only other man on board to whom you will listen."

"You're stubborn, and it seems I've lost my powers of persuasion." For the first time in ages, the Captain of the Vengeance actually pouted and looked down, though he didn't release Sam's hand. "Fine then, entertain me."

"Have you heard of Odysseus?" Sam asked after a moment of thought. At Dean's slight shake of his head, Sam gave a smile, gently running his fingers through the now clean locks of Dean's hair. "He was a sailor and a warrior, crafty and handsome. He took part in the great Trojan War. It all started when a mortal named Paris was approached by three goddesses to judge who was the most beautiful..." Sam began to tell Dean of the Trojan War and Odysseus and his trials of trying to find his way home once the war was over.

*

He'd fallen asleep a few times, but always awakened to Sam asking him how he was, and then continuing the story he was telling. At one point Dean had commented that the story was so long, they'd be in Greece to see Sam's beloved sights before it was done. Sam had faltered over his words, but Dean assured him it hadn't been a criticism. He was enjoying the story and might even decide to pretend he was ill for the foreseeable future if it got him such entertainment.

The next time Dean woke, Sam was no longer on the chair beside him. Instead, he was sprawled next to him, fast asleep. Dean rolled onto his side, biting his lower lip at the pain that shot through him at the movement. If he caused his wound to open, Sam would have his head.

After most of the pain subsided, he searched Sam's face and ran his hand over its contours. So manly, and yet so beautiful. So damned beautiful. With his thumb, he traced the dark shadows under his eyes. They were new. No doubt from worrying and caring for himself. At least in sleep, Sam's cares seem to have eased. "I love you," he whispered, smiling when Sam's eyelashes started to flutter.  
Sam turned his head and stared at Dean. "I love you, too. I always will. My land ahoy." He saw Dean on his side and heaved a sigh. "You shouldn't be lying on your wound, or stretching it like that yet. Tomorrow. Tomorrow you can start getting up to move around a little, walk the deck a few times, but still nothing strenuous and no sitting up without help yet for a few days. If you behave yourself, you can be back on light duty in a week."

"Hush Sam, you worry too much. Take too much on your shoulders." He started to caress Sam's chest, running his hand in circles, moving slowly down his body. "Time for the doctor to relax, hmm?" Carefully rolling closer, he sucked Sam's lower lip into his mouth.

Sam groaned softly. He wanted this. He wanted this so badly...but Dean was his brother. He kissed Dean back, but slowly pulled away, sitting up. "And you don't worry enough." He ran his fingers through his own hair and rolled out of bed, trying to be careful not to shake it, but he heard Dean's soft inhalation of breath.

Sam turned and looked down at him. "See. You are not ready for this yet." He knelt down and kissed Dean thoroughly. When he finally broke off, he smiled and slid his hand alongside Dean's cheek. "You need to eat and I need to check on my other patients." He paused and added. "We've reached port, just so you know." Sam straightened and called to Alfred to bring Dean a light meal.

"You slip away too easily." Licking his lips and tasting Sam on them, he gave him a reproachful look. "It's not food I'm hungry for."

"I know what you're hungry for. Do I need to shake the bed once, twice, thrice, to prove to you what a poor idea it is? What you risk because you haven't the patience to wait until you are well enough?"

"You mistake me." Dean's eyes locked with Sam's, challenged him. "I want only to bring you to completion. I know I can't give you anything else... yet."

Sam returned to Dean's side and clasped his hands. "You've already given me everything, Dean. You've given me love. You've given me freedom. You've taught me to be strong in ways I didn't think I would ever be." He bit his lip. "You've given me a brother I never knew I had, whom I love more than life itself...who I love in a way I should not...and...and that is why," his voice cracked suddenly, "...I cannot stay."

"What?" Ice inched through Dean's veins as he tried to process what Sam said. "You mean, you need to check on your patients. That you'll return," he said, the vein on his temple throbbing. "Sam?" He started to push himself up, waving Sam's hand away, willing him to give the answer Dean needed to hear and not the one he'd thought he'd heard.

"Brother, I love you. I love you so much. I feel as if my heart is being ripped out all over again and I know," the tears began to fall down Sam's cheeks, "I know it is the same for you. Worse, because you haven't the belief in the Bible that I do and cannot understand how my soul is torn asunder. This would damn our souls if we continue. It is incest, Dean and I...I cannot do this now that I know. Fate is cruel, to give me my love and then steal him away by giving me back the brother I never knew I had. I curse Father more now, hate him more in this instant than I ever have. For if he had not forsaken you, I would have a brother I love rather than a brother I want to make love to." A sob broke from Sam as the tears poured down his face. "I must leave, for both our sakes."

One side of Dean's face spasmed, causing his eye to wink. He drew a heavy breath and fought the sting of tears in the wake of Sam's. "No." He shook his head. "No. There's no leaving. You promised to choose me over everything. You said the past would stay in the past. You can't leave me," he said hoarsely, pushing his body back so he could sit straight, barely feeling the tug on his wound.

"I can't chose you over God, Dean. I can't. The past is --"

"And where was your God when your father had me sent to a workhouse? Where was He when you were beaten? Where was He when your precious Gabriel--" He took a deep breath and tried to lower his voice. "You would choose the God who abandoned you over me? Over this? Say it's not so. Say you've made a mistake," he said, tears now coursing down his face. He sniffed. "Do not break your word to me. Don't," he said with a hint of steel.

"Man cannot understand why God does what He does," Sam said softly. "You love me for who I am. I am a follower of God and the Bible...I can't change that Dean. I can't. I am and always will be yours. I will always love you. I don't want to leave, I don't, but I can't stay and torture us both because I cannot sleep in the bed of my brother. Past is past, but blood is blood, and nothing can change that." He wiped at Dean's tears even as his own continued to fall. "Please don't cry, please. I love you...I love you so much."

"You will not change your mind?" Dean asked, raising his face and allowing Sam's touch only until he saw Sam shake his head and was forced to accept his brother's resolve. Closing his hand around Sam's wrists, he pushed him away. "Thank you, Sam Winchester, for teaching me again that love is false. It's temporary. It's convenience, and nothing more. And that Winchester blood, it's cursed. It's cold. I shouldn't be surprised since a snake fathered us." He gave a bitter laugh and bowed his head to wipe his face with his hands.

When he looked up, his eyes had lost their luster and the walls Sam had torn down were quickly coming back up. "Your tears will no doubt dry the moment your boot touches the dock. You'll have your title to keep you warm, and both our shares of the ransom. I don't want any of it, it's tainted. I will keep my mother's necklace, you can't have that back."  
Sam fell back, The ring Dean had given him bouncing on the chain against his chest. "My tears will never dry, and I want neither my father's title nor the ransom. Give it to the crew. I will accept my doctor's pay and nothing more," he said, straightening and looking down at Dean. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and walked quickly from the Captain's quarters to check on the injured a final time, wiping at his tears even as more took their place.

*

"Rufus, it's time for me to leave. I told him, but I guess you know that," Sam said quietly, his eyes red-rimmed. "I wish you and the crew well. Look after him for me."

"He'll be fine, it's the rest of us you should be praying for," Rufus said with a smile. "You hear that? I almost got my head bitten off for asking if he should be out and about."

Dean's bellowed orders could be heard, and they were none-too-patient.

"What about you? Will you be alright?" Rufus asked, walking out of the infirmary with Sam and heading for the deck. "I could have one of the men accompany you to help make arrangements for transportation to wherever you wish to go."

"I'll be...fine. Eventually. No, I don't need help finding transportation. I...I don't even know where I'm going yet. Dean was having men raid the governor's house and he was getting some of my things. I guess...just sell them. They aren't important. None of it is, not anymore. Use the coin for the crew, for the new doctor." When they got to the deck, Sam saw Alfred standing next to four trunks. His trunks. Alfred looked almost as miserable as Sam felt.

Sam looked at the trunks and shook his head. "I don't need all that. Get me a duffel to put a few things into and I'll be on my way." He gripped Alfred's shoulder and stopped him. "This trunk was meant for Ms. Peden. It has many fine gifts for a bride to be. I want you to take it for when you find that right lady. Now go get me a duffel."

By the time Alfred returned, Sam had already pulled what he wanted from the trunks: some clothing, personal items, his books, the telescope Dean had gotten him along with a few of his other presents. He filled his coin purse with what he felt was fair pay for being their doctor, then filled the bag with his things.

Standing, Sam swung the bag over his shoulder. "Do what you will with the rest," he told Rufus. "Thank you for your counsel. I am glad I did not steal away in the night. I am glad I told Dean even if...even if he didn't understand. I will miss this ship, this crew, and most of all, the captain." He brushed at the fresh tears slipping out the corners of his eyes, then gave Alfred's shoulder a final squeeze. "Look after him, lad. He needs someone to."

Alfred stole a look at the Captain standing on the other end of the deck, then looked down. "I can't believe you're really leaving us, Sir." Tears flooded his eyes. "Is it because of your father? What happened to him?" he asked softly.

"Yes, it's because of my father. He's dead. I shot him. I learned some things from him I never knew and...and I just can't stay. I don't want to leave. I love Dean more than anything...almost anything. I can't set Dean above God and I have to do this. To stay would be torture for us both. With me gone, perhaps he can move on. Perhaps he can find happiness now. I wish that for him most of all. Goodbye, Alfred. I wish you well."

Even as the cabin boy gave him a smile, it was clear he understood none of what Sam told him.

Sam headed for the gangplank, forcing himself not to look back, but every step seemed harder than the last. When he stepped off the gangplank, he just stopped, finding fresh sobs caught in his chest.

Dean's gaze drilled into Sam's back as his brother marched off board. He saw him falter and wait. His breath caught in his throat as he allowed himself to believe Sam would see the error of his ways, would come back to him. But no, it was only in his mind.

Dean's gaze swept back to Alfred, his eyebrows snapping together. "Why are those trunks still here? Get two men and--"

"He didn't want them, Sir. Said the men--"

"Since when do you follow the orders of Lord Winchester? I am not dead yet--"

"No Sir!"

"And I am your Captain."

"Aye Sir."

"Then follow my orders or present yourself to the quartermaster for punish--"

"Sir. Sam said the items in the three trunks should be distributed to the men, and the one chest is for Alfred. I agreed to it, it's not Alfred's fault," Rufus interjected on behalf of the cabin boy.  
There was a long silence. "Ah, it must be his pirate clothes he's leaving behind. I suppose he got tired of almost looking like one of us. Bah, I can practically hear him shouting again about someone like me daring to touch someone like him, dirtying up his own fine clothes. Fine, distribute them and get those damned trunks off my deck before I have someone's hide," he shouted, turning his back on the trunks and on Sam. The past would stay in the past.

Sam froze and turned, looking back at the Vengeance. Ragamuffin...someone like you daring to touch someone like me...ruined my clothes...

He remembered now, the day the older boy had pushed him out of the road. He'd been distracted, wanting to see something in the shop across the way. Miss Sophie had recently died and his new governess was strict and it was hard to slip from her side. He hadn't seen the oncoming cart until too late and the boy had saved his life more likely than not. In the process his clothes had been ruined and he knew his father would whip him for being careless. All his fear and recent loss he unleashed upon the poor boy who had saved him. He had to blame someone and perhaps, just perhaps his father would not beat him if another was blamed for the condition of his clothes.

That young boy who'd saved him... that had been Dean. Sam had been cruel and vicious to him in his fright. Fresh tears fell down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered once again and head bowed, he headed off to port.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=21cyvzb)  
>  Our thanks to Stawberynvanilla for the lovely banner

Sam spent a few months on the seas, making his way to England and every night trying to forget Dean, at least Dean as anything more than his brother. The rum helped, or at least that's what he told himself as he got drunk every night. 

When he finally arrived and investigated the universities in and around the city of London, he discovered their concept of a physician was one trained in the philosophy of humors and botany and chemistry. Illnesses weren't addressed except as abstractions, as tension and lack of balance inside the body. He had learned more from the midwives and 'witches' and from those aboard the Vengeance than what it appeared the university could offer him. Any practical learning had to be obtained through apprenticeships, which one couldn't get without a sheepskin proving one had completed university.  
He picked up odd jobs here and there and changed his name from Winchester to Campbell. Although he made the occasional visit to a Molly house, he found that all he could bring himself to do was buy a few drinks. He had no interest in men dressed and acting like women any more than he had an interest in taking on the role. Not that everyone there did but anytime he saw a man who even remotely interested him, thoughts of Dean consumed him. His touch, his scent, his taste, the way his voice deepened and grew raspy and hungry sounding, all of it made it impossible for him to be with anyone else. They weren't who he wanted. 

He prayed in churches for strength, begged for answers, begged for God to remove the attractions he felt toward men, and his feelings for his brother. He researched the Bible extensively, reading every version he could find, talking with priests, looking to find salvation or even just comfort and an easing of the broken heart inside him that longed for one man, and one man alone. He confessed his sins and did the penance the priests prescribed to him, and still, nothing eased the ache. 

*  
It was four months to the day that he'd left the Vengeance and Dean when a wicked storm raked the city. Sam was drunk, very drunk. He'd been to a Molly house again but, as always, found no one there who interested him. Truth be told, it seemed no one turned his head anymore. Perhaps God _had_ removed his attractions to men, or simply no one but Dean would do. He was Dean's, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that.

"Could be a priest," Sam muttered to himself as he stumbled down the streets, sheets of rain pouring down. "Noooo, want to be a doctor. Yep. Left him to be a doctor." He shook his head. "Left him cause I'm weak, ‘cause I love him too much. Church already says I'm hell bound, don't want to take him with me..." He stumbled on, remembering the storm at sea, remembering the aftermath, helping Doc with the crew, helping fix things. Making love to Dean. His tears mixed with the rain on his face and the sobs came, interspersed with shouted curses at God. 

Sam soon found himself at the docks. The storm had finally let up, though it was still raining. He saw a ship...the _Vengeance!_ He ran to it, his heart soaring, pounding furiously in his chest. "Dean!" he shouted. Fuck right and wrong, he loved Dean. He wanted to be with Dean for the rest of his life.

"Dean!" he cried again as he reached the gang-plank.

"'ere now, Wot you shoutin' 'bout lad?" a deckhand called.

Sam didn't recognize the man and his gaze went to the prow of the ship. The figurehead was a lion. The Vengeance's figurehead was a dragon. Sam turned and walked away, his shoulders sagging, fresh tears streaking his face. He walked aimlessly for a while, the rain all but stopping finally and the storm clouds blowing away to reveal a dark sky sprinkled with stars as bright as diamonds. 

He looked for a tavern, wanting only more rum or whiskey to dull the pain. It was then that he saw the tattoo parlor. His jaw set, recalling his jest with Dean, he walked in and sat down in a chair. Pulling forth some coin, he slapped them on the table.

A burly man with several fine tattoos on his arm eyed him. "What can I do for ye?" he asked, his voice deep.

Sam fumbled open his shirt. "A heart on my chest. The letters 'PK' on the inside, this design," he held up the two tone ring Dean had given him that he still wore on a chain, "over it, binding the letters in the heart, the heart being held by a dragon. A dragon like you'd see on a ship's prow. Maybe with a sword or pistol." He knew now that he would never be with another and that he belonged to Dean, body and soul. This would remind him always of that and if he and Dean were to ever again meet, Dean would see it and would know that Sam never stopped loving him.

The tattoo artist gave a nod. "Right then, settle back," he said, looking at the coin and sweeping it all into his pocket. "This will cover tonight but your tattoo is fancy, it'll take time and more money than that."

Sam pulled out his coin purse and put more on the table. "You'll get the same amount once it's done."

The man poured rum over Sam's chest, then handed him the bottle. "Agreed," the man said, pulled out his needles and ink, and began his work. 

*  
It took a month for the tattoo to be inked. Every night Sam prayed to God for Dean's safety and told Dean that he loved him, and that he would always love him. Soon after he would then drifted off into drunken slumber, rising mid-morning to work for a barber near the docks. 

Sam had been with the barber for a few months when the man, Alan, paid Sam something extra in wages and tips, and arranged for him a ship to take him north to Scotland. Arriving in Edinburgh, Sam found that which Alan promised him was true, that there was an excellent University for Barber Surgeons and apothecaries and the like. The Crown even permitted the dissection of an executed criminal once a year. He managed to befriend one of the professors and exaggerated his experience, telling him he'd apprenticed under a full-fledged physician who had been killed in battle, and of course, his time with Alan. With some pleading and charm, he convinced the professor to speak on his behalf and he was permitted to take the entrance examination, which he passed fairly easily.

He sat in class and listened to the lectures, but often found small doodles mixed among his notes, doodles of ships and the sea, and names of the crew he remembered so well. Dean's name was always among them....  
*

[9 months later]  
The tavern was packed with people. Several ships had come in to dock over the last day and there were many sailors about with coin to spend. The liquor flowed and the music played. Groups gathered as people told of their adventures, some boasting, and some trying to strike fear into the hearts of listeners. 

Dean sat near the large fireplace, holding court as he explained how he'd tricked the French forces into firing upon their own ship. When he started to tell the story from the French point of view, speaking with a lousy fake accent and pretending to be their bumbling captain, he had not only his men, but others who'd come to listen, in stitches. 

Rufus watched the Captain's antics, heard him laugh as loudly as any of the others. Yet he knew Dean well, and saw that the laughter didn't reach the man's eyes. Too often, he only saw anger, sadness, or detachment reflected in his Captain's eyes. The moments when they would light up with real joy were rare, and far too fleeting. 

A wench walked up to the Captain and spoke with him in French. Rufus didn't have to know the language to realize she was mock-chiding him, then flirting. Her hands moved up and down Dean's arm and she kissed him a few times, but each time she tugged on him, trying to get him to go upstairs, he used up his French vocabulary, saying "non, merci." He did allow her to sit on his lap as someone else told a story, and he paid for the entire group's drinks, which earned her a nod from the tavern keeper who assumed it was her doing. 

A half hour later, he saw her slip off Dean's lap and move on. That's when Rufus moved his chair closer to the Captain. "That one was fair of face."

"Mmm, nice teeth," Dean agreed.

"Teeth?" Rufus stared at Dean, then they both laughed. He slapped Dean on the back. "Well, why don't you go after her?"

"Waste my hard-earned coin?"

"You're wasting it now," Rufus pointed out dryly.

"Ah, but I get to keep my heart."

"You don't have a heart."

"I'll drink to that." Dean raised his glass and swallowed down its contents.

"How about a fine young man? There's a place--"

Dean raised his hand to cut Rufus off.

"Captain, it's been almost a year since--"

"Rufus, you overstep." He waved a wench over to get him more to drink, then turned to Rufus. "Besides, they don't offer anything more than what my right hand offers. Now, how about you? Shouldn't you be finding yourself a warm woman to lay with?"

"I'm a married man, Captain."

Dean raised a brow.

"It takes a few more drinks before I forget that."

Once again they laughed, Dean shaking his head.

Many rounds later, the tavern broke out in song and dance. Rufus fully expected the Captain to at least sing along since it was one of his favorites, but when he looked around, it seemed he'd left. 

*  
 _What'll we do with a drunken sailor,_  
What'll we do with a drunken sailor,  
Earl-aye in the morning?

_Put him in bed with the captain's daughter,_  
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter,  
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter,  
That's what we do with a drunken sailor.  


Dean walked away from the tavern, his long strides getting him away from the music. He reached the wharf and looked for his ship, taking a deep breath when he saw her. She would always be loyal to him and never leave his side. They'd go down together someday, a day very far in the future.

* * *

"Professor Archer," Sam said, walking up to the man after class. "May I speak with you?"

"Samuel, yes. What can I do for you?" the man said, closing his lecture book and putting it into his carry bag.  


"I...I have to leave," Sam said. "I have learned so much but," he shook his head, "personal matters are weighing heavily on me."

"Personal matters?" the professor asked.

"...I'm in love," Sam admitted. "I have tried to forget her but I barely sleep for she haunts my nights and days. I have spent much time in the church, I have begged God to ease the ache in my soul, but I cannot deny my heart any longer. I know I have not completed my degree, but may I obtain from you a letter of recommendation and notice that I have attended classes here so that I might find work as I travel in search of my heart's desire?" Seeing the question in his professor's eyes he added, "She travels extensively, a merchant, and I do not know where she is, but I swear I will find her and beg her to take me back." He couldn't admit his love was a man, for sodomy was a capital offense.

The professor shook his head. "If love was an illness, it would be that which topped the list as the ruin of many a man. Yes, I will write your letter. ...Samuel, let me speak with the others. You are a fine student. Perhaps I can arrange for you to take your oral test. We cannot offer you a degree, but we may be able to offer you a certificate if you pass. This would at least permit you to work as an assistant to a surgeon, on a ship or elsewhere. Would you be willing to wait a few weeks and do this?" 

Sam hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, most assuredly."

"Good. Then see out the rest of your courses for this semester and at the end, we will test you. The test will involve many topics not yet covered. It will be difficult. If you succeed, we'll issue you the certificate. If you fail, you will still receive a letter of recommendation from the school that addresses your capabilities, based upon the exam results and the classes you have completed. Is that agreeable?"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," Sam said, pleased that he would at least get some papers that would help him find work while he searched for Dean. He would spend the next few weeks studying every waking moment and would send out inquiries regarding the Vengeance. By the time he had taken his exam, he might have some leads as to where to start his search.

* * * 

[1 year and 10 months later]

Port Royal, the wickedest city in the world, was a hotbed of activity. The docks were busy with crates being loaded and off-loaded from ships. Sheep were herded up narrow gangplanks, chickens were carried under arms or in cages. Sailors shouted orders from decks and mainstays and ladders. Ribald comments were aplenty, as were women enticing newcomers into their arms for a bit of coin. Young children ran barefooted, watching in awe as sails were raised and lowered. Parents watched over sons who were of prime age to be impressed into service and kept a keen eye out for press gangs who roamed.  


The Vengeance had been in port for two days. Though there were several ships of the Royal Navy, pirate ships or privateers as they preferred to call themselves in these parts, whether or not they had papers and authority to act on behalf of the crown, all were welcomed. The island was under the rule of English Lords who didn't care what anyone had done on the high seas, so long as they kept the French and Spanish at bay. It was a fair trade-off and it made Port Royal a lucrative shipping hub.

Several of the lads from the Vengeance were near the ship, playing with a leather ball, kicking it around and fighting over it as they waited for some of their mates to meet them. It was said there was a pub for every ten residents of the island and they were more than ready to drink and piss the night away.  
*

Sam walked down the gangplank of the "Golden Mermaid," his packs over his shoulders. Ever since he left the university he had been tracking the Vengeance, following several false leads or missing the Vengeance by a month here or month there. He had been on twelve different ships, narrowly avoided getting enslaved, and was almost impressed by the Royal Navy. When he'd upset one captain when the first mate died from wounds after a battle, he'd nearly been forced to walk the gangplank. He'd argued the penalty down from the gangplank to being keelhauled, then to a mere flogging and ultimately slipped off the ship before the flogging ever took place. One drunken night he'd gotten his ear pierced and wore a gold earring now. His skin was tanned by the sun and his hands certainly more callused than they had ever been.

Port Royal. He had finally reached it. A captain from another ship in the last port swore the Vengeance would be in Port Royal to sell its goods from some recent successful raids on some French ships. Sam had of course heard that promise before and had begun to despair at ever finding Dean again. He walked along the docks, his eyes both watchful for trouble and looking for the triple masted ship with a dragon for its figurehead.

Having walked a good portion of the docks and found nothing, he was near ready to head into town to get some dinner when he thought he heard a familiar voice. "Alger?" he whispered. Jogging along the docks, he easily looked over the heads of the crowds and saw men from the Vengeance dockside. "Adam? Leif? Tanner?" Sam called out and pushed through the crowds. His eyes went to the ship. "Vengeance" was boldly written on her side.

"Adam!" Sam called, finally reaching the men. "Dean, is he on board?" he asked, hardly believing after almost two years of hunting and nearly three years of being gone, he'd finally found the Vengeance and her crew.

"Look what we have here boys. Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Your eye, Adam. Eye," one of the men pointed at the eye patch amid laughter.

"Nay lad, 'aven't you heard?" Adam put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Was a sad affair, it was."

A couple of the others shook their heads sadly, one of them pulling his hat off. "It happened shortly after you left."

"Ay. Captain gave the order to leave port immediately. It happened soon after." Tears fell from his eye and he wiped them away.  


Sam felt as if a dagger had been stabbed into his gut, his gaze darting from man to man. "What happened?" he asked, paling. "What happened!"

"It was the fever. Came back something fierce. He fought, he did, God rest 'is soul, but..."

Sam felt his knees weaken and tears stung his eyes. After everything, leaving Dean, starting university only to discover nothing seemed to mean anything without Dean, hunting for his damned ship all this time and it didn't matter. None of it mattered. If he'd only stayed like he knew he should have. "How long...how long did he..." Sam asked, his voice thick.

"A few hours. 'Is last words were... What were they, Tanner? I canna remember."

"Sebastian... Sebastian... I'll see ye below..." Leif said with as much drama as he could muster. Then the raucous laughter started, and one of the men clapped Sam on the back.

"Sir, Sir!" Alfred ran out of a store and toward Samuel.

Sam was startled by their laughter and was still sorting it out in his head when he heard a voice he didn't recognize seemingly calling to him. He turned to see a tall gangly youth running toward him. The young man hugged Sam tightly and Sam suddenly realized who it was. "Alfred? Your voice has changed, you've grown," he said, hugging the youth back just as tightly. "They told me Dean..." He scowled at the men who were still laughing. "Dean's fine, right?" he asked.

"Captain's... aye, he's fine. It's good to see you, Sir. Very good," he grinned. "Off with you," he told the others, realizing they'd been having a go at Samuel. "I didn't think I'd ever lay eyes on you again, Sir." Alfred searched his face.

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief at the confirmation that Dean was healthy and safe. "I had a lot of soul searching to do. It took me a little over a year to realize I...I'd made a mistake. My life, without Dean...it's empty. I don't know if he'll take me back, forgive me, but I have to try. I've been hunting for the Vengeance for nearly two years now. Does he ever...speak of me?" Sam asked, afraid of what Alfred might tell him. Maybe Dean had moved on, found another love. Maybe he hated Sam, just as he had when he'd first hunted Sam down.  
Alfred shook his head 'no.' "Threatened to cut my balls off if I mentioned you again. And to give me a taste of the cat. And to toss me overboard. But my mouth runs away with me sometimes," he shrugged. "But he misses you, I know he does. I see it in his eyes at times."

Sam exhaled, relieved to know Dean hadn't taken up with someone else and that he still thought of him. "I suppose you have a doctor...does the Vengeance need any deckhands?"

"Still don't have a proper doctor. They're hard to find. Had one from our voyage back from England, but he was working for passage and left us. You're not planning to stowaway, are you?" His eyes narrowed. "You can't be. Do you know what they do to stowaways?" Alfred scratched his head. "Captain and Master Rufus and some others are at the King's Head. The nice one, not the first pub by the same name. If you go that way, and turn where that woman is hawking her goods," he pointed, "you'll find it. I'd come with you but I've got some business to complete, or the Captain will have my head. He's a lot less patient these days."

"Well, I'm not a proper doctor, legally, but I did manage to get a certificate that would let me work under another surgeon on merchant ships as an assistant. Alfred, your girl you were going to marry," Sam didn't see a ring on the youth's finger, "did it work out? Is she waiting on you?"

Alfred was taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected Sam to remember, but the man genuinely cared about those around him and his knowledge about their lives beyond the obvious was a clear reflection of that. He gave a rueful smile and a shrug of the shoulder. "It seems I have a nephew. She married my brother. It's not her fault. I wasn't there and... her family... our families."

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry Alfred. I'm sure you'll find someone who suits when the time is right."

"Aye, Sir," he gave a nod. "In the meantime, there's plenty o' trouble to be found, right here," he said, his eyes tracking a pair of women walking past and eyeing them. "Plenty."  


Sam laughed. "Yes, you've definitely grown up some since last time." After giving the boy's shoulder a squeeze he drew in a breath as if to find his courage. "At the King's Head. Right. I'll find it. Thank you Alfred...I hope to see you soon." He heaved his duffel back on his shoulder, narrowly missing knocking to the ground a few of the crew who'd teased him.

"Oi there!"

Grinning, Sam walked away.

*

Finding himself outside the King's Head, Sam paused for a moment before walking inside. The large tavern was warm and filled with music and laughter. Searching through the occupants, he finally spotted Dean back in one corner, talking and laughing with some men. 

Sam's breath caught in his chest and he just stood and stared for a minute, taking in every movement Dean made, admiring him and praying he hadn't totally wrecked any chance he had with the man. _Brother..._ a voice whispered in his head. _I don't care,_ he told the voice and with a deep breath, headed over to the man he loved.

"I...I hear you need a doctor," Sam said, his voice not as steady as he'd hoped as he boldly walked up to Dean.

Dean heard Sam's voice, which was impossible, and yet it wasn't. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes raking over every inch of the man who'd played him for a fool. The earring and the dark tan made it a bit hard for Dean to reconcile this man with the lilly white-skinned noblemen who he'd dragged to his ship so long ago. He was vaguely aware that the others of his crew were getting up from around him, taking their mugs and plates, making space as they were wont to do when they expected a fight.  


"You must be very lost. And wrong, very wrong. I don't need anything. Try Captain Morgan, I hear he'll take just about anyone," Dean answered in a clipped, deliberate tone.  


"Aye, I've been very lost. For the past three years lost. I had a home. I had a love. And I left my home and my love because...because of family. Two years ago, I decided to try to find him again because I could not stop thinking about him. Priests had no answers for me. God had no answers for me, and while in classes, his name ended up again and again and again in my notes." 

Sam set his duffel down and opened his shirt, showing both the tattoo and ring that was on the chain. "He claimed my heart and holds it still. But I don't want my heart back. I want him back. And I'll do anything, anything at all, to convince him of that."

Seeing his marks, his claims on Sam... the inked skin and the ring he'd given ... Dean's heart clenched. Even as he told himself that it had been a different time, a different place, that it had been a time of laughter and belonging, a time that was long gone now, forever shattered by Sam's own hand, he couldn't help yearning to recapture it. Couldn't help acknowledging that tracking down the Vengeance was a feat, particularly for someone of Sam's life experience. 

He wanted to dismiss Sam, to tell him to get out of his sight. Yet he'd dismissed a boy once, for making a boy's mistake. Would he now be dismissing the man, for making a man's mistake ... for making a choice that many in his place would make? Most people would live their lives in misery to please their God, not chance death and worse, enslavement, to make what they considered their immoral dreams come true. 

Dean's eyes misted, his voice hoarse when he spoke. "And what if _he_ has made peace with himself. What if he does not wish to pull into every port wondering whether God, or the wind, or some urge to learn, or a troupe of actors will cause you to flee, to leave him again?"

"I do not believe he has made peace with himself. He may have accepted, but that does not mean it gives him peace. I would live in chains, I would never set foot on land again, if this is what it would take to convince him. I would give up everything except prayer. Though priests and God had no answers for me, I will still pray to God to keep him and his crew safe, as I have prayed every night since I left his ship. Life is empty without my love, my Sebastian, my land ahoy. He knows I left for one reason and one reason only. Because of family ties. I have come to terms with that issue. It matters not to me any longer. Only he matters."

Dean saw nothing but earnest truth in Sam's eyes. In light of their history, the offer to live in chains could not have been given lightly. Something shifted inside him. Crumbled. Then the walls he'd built brick by brick, over many a glass of rum, came tumbling down. 

"No. He has no peace," Dean admitted with a nod. "Rufus," he turned his head to the bar, where his men sat watching in rapt attention. "We have a new doctor. Have one of the lads take his things aboard."

Rising from his seat, he took two steps, closed his fist around both Sam's shirt and the chain he was wearing around his neck, and yanked him close. His slanted his mouth first one way across Sam's, hovering over his brother's lips as if undecided, pulled back slightly, then slanting his mouth the other way, kissed him as he had in many a dream since Sam had left him. 

His kiss was fierce. His tongue plundering Sam's mouth, claiming Sam as his once more, showing him the fire in his heart was still there, burning hotly only for him. By the time he released Sam, not only was he completely out of breath, but he felt something in his chest that he hadn't in a very long time. The lightness that came with being happy and living with hope. "I don't have your way with words, but know that without you, I have lived as half a man."

"I like how you just told me you love me still ," Sam said, panting, grinning at Dean. "It was very clear. If your ship hadn't been harder to find than a ghost, I could have been back in your arms near on two years ago." He glanced down at his chest. "Do you like your mark? I too felt like half a man, but this...this helped." 

Running his fingers over the tattoo, Dean nodded. "I can't wait to take a much closer look. Tell me, do you have any other surprises for me?" he asked, looking pointedly at Sam's earring. "You look more like one of us now than you ever did playing dress up before."

Sam felt his face flush. "I couldn't bring myself to pierce anything else, if that is what you are asking. The only surprises I have for you is a man who has been without his love for near three years and who is more than a little anxious to spend some private time with him. And can we join in matelotage here? Before we leave port? I want to take no other chances on anything coming between us ever again." He caught Dean's hand and brought it to his lips, his gaze hungry and locked on Dean's.

To take that step, Dean would have to be very sure. Sure of Sam, of their future together. Once the papers were signed, everything he had to his name, his ship, the plot of land he'd purchased for when he grew old or tired of his way of life and all the treasures he'd amassed, would belong equally to Sam. Matelotage had been his idea before, when he'd thought nothing could come between them and had been proven wrong. Was he ready to risk it now? When he looked in Sam's eyes, his heart sang 'yes.' And yet, it had been mistaken once before. 

The question hung between them. Dean noticed the uncertainty that crept into Sam's expression and the way he held his hand a little tighter, as if hanging onto a lifeline. The clincher was imagining Sam walking away from him. His own hand tightened around Sam's. "Swear by your God that you won't leave me again. Swear it and we'll join in three days, before we leave port." 

Sam's breath rushed from him. "I swear. I swear by God I will be at your side for as long as you'll have me. No matter what happens, know I will always be there for you from this time forward. I am yours, always." Sam caressed Dean's cheek. "Just as you had claimed those years ago, you were right. I belonged to you then, as I still do. I love you, Dean."

"I love you, Sam. From this time forward, I will always be at your side." As simple as that, Dean pulled Sam into his arms again and sealed their promises with a kiss. Before they made too great a spectacle of themselves, he pulled away, though he kept an arm around Sam. "Bar-keep, ale for everyone!"

There was a roar of approval from the crowd.

"Alfred, where is that boy," he said looking around, and spotting him standing at the entrance, as if he'd just come in. "Well what are you waiting for? Take Sam's things aboard and take care of the details. Arrange for a feast at..."

"The Guilford," Rufus suggested, raising a glass.

"Aye, at the Guilford. And tell the men they better not be drunk before the feast or I'll...."

"You'll cut off their balls," Alfred filled in with a smile. "Aye Sir. Congratulations Captain... Sir..." He grinned at both men.

"Thank you, Alfred," Sam said. Looking at Dean's hand he added, "And bring the Captain his ring so we might both show our dedication to one another." Smiling at Dean, he gave him a quick kiss. _"This water is too salty for me to even drink,"_ he began to sing. _"I'd rather walk the dreaded plank than stay another week But it's you my love, you're my land ahoy..."_

Everyone in the tavern began to join in until "yo-ho Sebastion" could be heard almost all the way to the docks.

***

They had moved to The Guilford and remains of roast pig and goat still sat on the tables, as well as bread and cheeses, fruit, and tubers. Some of the crew were still eating, picking at the remains of the grand feast. Others had moved up to the bar in order to get refills faster. Wenches circulated among the crowd, convincing men to follow them upstairs to satisfy their _other_ hungers.

As the hour grew later, the laughter more raucous and the crowd increasingly disorderly, Dean found himself staring more and more often at Sam. The lads from the ship were keeping Sam busy, telling him of their adventures and asking about his. It was clear that Sam had endeared himself to his crew in the short time he'd been with them.  


Lifting his mug, Dean took a drink, glaring at someone who dared block his view. He wasn't surprised when a crewman who was much more alert cuffed the man, looked back at Dean, and then both men moved away. Dean didn't acknowledge them, but his gaze grew hotter as it lingered on Sam's chest, his shirt still hanging wide open. When he lifted his eyes, he caught a flash of Sam's straight white teeth against bronze skin. The man was clearly oblivious to the heat he was stirring in Dean's loins. 

Rufus spoke with him and Dean gave a nod of agreement without looking at the man, then shook Rufus' hand off his arm. He was no longer paying attention to anyone or anything other than Sam. As he watched the man, Dean's head swam with memories of how he tasted, how he felt under him, how he squirmed and whispered his name, of how desperate he could get, of how he could satisfy Dean like no other. 

Already aching for him, the sight of Sam's mouth wet with drink, and a glimpse of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, engulfed Dean in a flood of desire. Abruptly, he stood and crossed the short distance to the bar, cutting right through the small crowd around Sam. He put his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder, gripping it and demanding his attention. "I hunger for you," he said, his voice raw with need.

Sam had been giving Dean covert glances while listening to the crew. The years hadn't changed Dean much, though he seemed to have harder lines on his face and a new scar near his eye. All night, he'd wanted to be standing next to Dean, to be touching him, to be soaking up the man's presence, but Dean seemed content to watch him. Did Dean still doubt him? He couldn't blame the man if he did, but it didn't change his desires to be near him. 

Finally he saw Dean rise to his feet. Sam forced himself not to act like a hopeful swooning woman as Dean approached the bar. At Dean's words, his mouth dropped open. No one had ever said such a thing to him, and certainly not in public. He felt his face flush pink. "Then perhaps we should find a more private place with just you and I, and sate your hunger," Sam finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in his black-garbed handsome pirate. Gripping Dean's hand, he lifted it from his shoulder and moved it to wrap around his waist. "Lead on, Captain, for I too hunger."

Pressing his palm against Sam's bare stomach, Dean gave a tight smile. "Let's eat."  


As he guided Sam through the crowded feast hall, Dean reined in his desires, the need to ravish Sam right there and then strong. It had been so long, so damned long. And now, the thought of walking all the way back to the Vengeance, of having to wait to get under Sam's clothes, it was intolerable.

As Sam moved toward the exit, Dean suddenly pulled him in another direction. In a few strides, they were standing next to a pretty wench who'd been trying to persuade him to go sample her wares. 

"Why cap'n, have you changed your mind?" she asked, flashing him a smile. She stole a glance at Sam, then looked back at the Pirate King and gave him a knowing look. "Oooh, I didn't think you'd be _that sort_ of adventurous. I can bring both your ships into port," her gaze shifted to Sam once more and she pulled her skirt tight against her body, swinging her hip slightly. "For two handsome men like you, it'll be just one and a half times my regular coin."

"Take us to your room," Dean agreed quickly, keeping an iron grip on Sam as they followed her through a back door that lead to narrow stairs. 

Sam gave Dean a confused look. Yes, he had slept with women before but they really didn't interest him. But Dean had slept with women...perhaps he wanted both to celebrate Sam's return. Sucking on his bottom lip, Sam hoped Dean wasn't going to be cruel, taking him up to the wench's room, then telling Sam to get out, that he had indeed made his peace and didn't want Sam. His heart pounding hard in his chest, he gripped Dean's hand, never wanting to let go...but if Dean had only been leading him on...it would serve Sam right for leaving Dean in the first place.  


If not for Dean's firm grip on him, Sam would have probably stopped on the stairs and refused to go on. He didn't want to share Dean. He didn't want to watch anyone else touch him, or make him groan, or pleasure him. "Dean? Captain?" Sam finally asked hesitantly. "I don't want..." he whispered quietly, knowing he would accept the woman's presence if the only other choice was losing Dean.  


"I know what you want," Dean responded, refusing to allow Sam to slow down or fall behind. The stairs creaked under their weight and he wondered how many damned flights they would have to walk, but was pleased when she entered a long hallway instead of taking the next flight of stairs. The walls of the hall were covered in garish red crushed velvet that had seen better days. As they passed a few doors, at times they heard the cries and moans of the occupants.

Sam fell silent, not as reassured by the captain's brusque words as he would have liked. Still, he was tugged along as if he were in shackles, with Dean giving him no quarter. He winced when he heard what sounded like a flogger striking bare flesh and a man's groan, whether of pleasure or pain, he wasn't certain. Then the woman they were with finally opened a door and waved them inside, her gaze raking over both of them in a way that made Sam distinctly uncomfortable.

Releasing Sam, Dean looked down and dug into his leather coin purse. 

"How may I service you?" the woman asked, playing with the ties at her bosom and giving them a suggestive smile.

Ignoring her question, Dean held out a gold piece.

She snatched the coin from his hand, her face reflecting surprise and joy. "There's not much I won't do," she assured him, immediately starting to undo her lacing.

"That won't be necessary." Dean grabbed her arm and walked her to the door. "The only thing service we require is... your room. There'll be another gold piece in it for you if you manage to have food and drink sent up in two hours."

"What... you mean..."

"Yes. Thank you," Dean said, shutting the door and slowly turning around, his gaze raking over Sam.

All the breath rushed out of Sam. "I feared...I didn't..." He rushed into Dean's arms, kissing him with all the years of pent up passion. They may have kissed earlier, but it hadn't been enough. It hadn't been nearly enough. His hands found their way under Dean's shirt as his leg slipped between Dean's thigh and he pushed Dean backwards until Dean's back thudded against the door. "Love you. Missed you. Never leave you again," Sam murmured between kisses, between breaths. 

"I see," Dean answered thickly, pleased by Sam's enthusiasm and battling his own emotions and rising lust. "Then don't. Ever. Leave," he said between wicked kisses and hard gropes. "My bed is cold without you." Gripping Sam's hips, he pulled him up hard against his frame, moaning against his lips. 

"Good," Sam murmured, pulling back long enough to stare into Dean's stormy green eyes, Sam's own look one of pure possession. "For no one belongs in it but me." Sam rubbed against Dean's firm arousal as he tore at the buckles and laces keeping him from seeing his lover naked. "I promise you it will ne'er be cold again."

As his body was tugged forward at his waist, Dean kept his gaze locked with Sam's. "I'll hold you to that," he promised, a hint of iron giving an edge to his words. Then he was distracted by Sam's touches and by his need to see Sam's chest, the tattoo more closely. Without warning, he pushed away from the door, turning them both toward a table and lamp and tearing Sam's shirt off his shoulders. They staggered, but he didn't allow them to fall, wheeling Sam around once more, this time touching him as he inspected his inked flesh. "A sight I never thought I'd see." This time, his voice was hoarse.

"Me, or your mark upon me?" Sam teased. "'T'was only four months since I'd last seen you. I thought I saw your ship in port. I ran to it, knowing what a mistake I'd made, calling your name, ready to beg you to take me back. But I didn't know the deckhand and then I saw the masthead was a lion, not a dragon. I was already drunk, missing you. I went looking for another tavern when I saw the tattoo shop. It took a handful of nights to finish it." Sam took a deep breath and hesitated slightly. "I am ...glad I left. I do not mean I am happy for the time I was away from you, but what I learned...I don't think I could have learned in any other fashion. If I hadn't left, there would have always been a part of me that would have...not been with you. There would have been a part of me still longing to go to University. There would have been a part of me that would have heard Father's voice forever telling me how evil and wrong it was to love you. ...Eventually you would likely have lost me forever." Sam smiled then, his dimples showing and adoration in his eyes as he ran his fingers through Dean's hair. "I learned what life was like without you, and it was hellish. I missed you every day. I am not happy I was away for so long, but if that was the price to have you always, then it was worth it. And I'm glad you like your mark. Know that I have not been with another while I was gone, for none...none were you."

"I will _never_ be glad you left, but it might be a good thing that you didn't find me in four months. Things might have turned out differently. I was... Let's just say that I did more pirating and plundering in six month than in the year before, and it wasn't out of any need." With memories of those dark days running through his mind, Dean couldn't bring himself to smile back. "I am not a forgiving man. The fact that we're here now..." He nodded. "You've changed me, for the better," he acknowledged. "But don't expect miracles." 

Sam nodded, his own smile fading. "And I have never been so drunk for so many nights. I did not think I would ever come to terms with it. I am sorry for the pain I caused you, caused us both. And of course I will expect miracles. I found you, I lost you, I found you again. All miracles, of that I am certain. You are my miracle, Dean. You always will be."  


Dean suddenly closed his arms around Sam and, closing his eyes, held him close, just held him. "You have a point," he admitted, knowing how many odds had been beaten. "From now on, any drinking we do, it's going to be in celebration. No more sorrows to drown in. No more, Sammy," he said sternly, pulling his head back and locking his gaze with his brother's. 

Sam clung to Dean, not wanting to ever let him go. "Sorrows are part of life. May they be few and celebrations be many. Especially if they involve those coconut drinks. For now though, will you show me how you've missed me?"

"Aye. I've missed you sorely," Dean whispered, clapping both hands over Sam's ass and pulling him up against his own frame, biting his lower lip as their groins pressed together. Dipping his head, he sucked hard on Sam's lower lip, then let it slip from between his own lips. "I think I've left another mark. The first of many, this night," he vowed, looking at his handiwork of Sam's puffy lower lip. 

"You may leave as many marks as you wish," Sam said softly. "I will wear every one as a betrothed wears an engagement ring. With great happiness." Sam leaned in and sucked on the side of Dean's neck, biting and nipping as he rocked his groin against his love's. When he pulled away, his eyes twinkled. "Of course, you may have to wear a few of mine as well, for I am not an innocent blushing bride, but a man who knows his mind and desires."

"Tell me something I don't know, already." Heat washed over Dean as they touched and rocked against each other, neither man able to keep his eyes off the other for too long. He started to walk Sam backwards, toward the bed, tugging Sam's shirt completely off and dropping it onto the floor. With one hand, he undid his own shirt, his eyes growing hotter when Sam started to help him. By the time the back of Sam's knees hit the edge of the bed, their boots were off and both their pants were undone. Dean reclaimed Sam's mouth with a hard, hungry kiss. His tongue delved inside, probing and searching the silky hot depths of his lover's mouth, reminding him who he belonged to, once and for all. His hands roved over Sam's back and ass, squeezing and touching, sometimes gripping him hard, molding him against his own body, letting him feel his rigid arousal, letting him know how much he needed Sam. 

As time slipped forward, Dean's kisses became more urgent. Groaning, Dean pulled his throbbing mouth away and stared at Sam for a long moment, drinking him in with his gaze. Then he dipped his head and kissed along Sam's sleek, warm chest, finding his nipple and sucking on it. He felt Sam shiver and all he could think about was having him under him. Swearing, he pulled away once more, very much aware of the wet mark he'd left over Sam's erect nipple. His hands slipped up from Sam's hips, to his stomach and chest. He shoved Sam, his hands moving lightning-fast to the trousers at his waist, managing to peel them all the way down to Sam's knees before Sam's back hit the mattress. 

"I swear you are the only one who can strike me dumb," he said hoarsely, his eyes roving hotly over his lover's body spread across the red velvet covers of the bed. Swallowing hard, he bent slowly, grasped the bottom of Sam's trousers and tugged them all the way off. His heart beat so loudly he was sure Sam could hear it. Making short work of his own trousers and ridding himself of them, Dean made his way up Sam's body, kissing his thighs, lightly mouthing his swollen cock and promising himself the day would come when he would take Sam into his mouth without any anxiety, then moving up his stomach and chest, before dropping down over him and capturing his mouth in a long, heated kiss.

Just Dean's lusty gaze was enough to make Sam's cock grow more erect, stiffening as if wanting to show itself off to the man who looked as if he wanted to devour Sam. His fingers dug into the velvet covers as Dean slowly crawled his way up Sam's body. His breath hitched when his lover's mouth ghosted over his cock, and then reminded himself Dean didn't perform fellatio. There was no disappointment because Dean certainly made up for it in everything else he did.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, returning the passion in the kiss, his hands sliding over the scarred skin on Dean's back. He had forgotten how many scars his lover had, how much pain his lover had borne through the years. Never again, Sam vowed silently to himself. He would do anything and everything in his power to prevent Dean from every suffering pain like that again. When Dean finally let him draw in a breath, Sam panted, "God, I have missed you."

With a sudden shove, he rolled, putting Dean beneath him. "Give me a chance to admire you, to touch and kiss you, so I know this is not merely another dream," he said, leaning back so he could admire the tanned body of the Pirate King, running his fingers over every ridge and indentation, every scar and mark. "Beautiful," he breathed, feathering kisses everywhere, licking and sucking and leaving the occasional mark as he explored his lover.

"You exaggerate, or perhaps you need spectacles," Dean whispered, arching slightly each time Sam's lips touched down on a new area, sending shudders of pleasure through him. His nipples tightened into dagger points, practically aching for attention. Lifting his hand, he stroked Sam's hair, smiling slightly. "Still as soft as the finest spun silk," he mused, his fingers carding through the slippery strands of hair.

"No, I do not exaggerate, or need glasses, or lie. You are the most beautiful, and most handsome man I have ever seen. And you are mine," Sam declared, his touch growing more possessive and his kisses lingering, leaving marks trailing behind them until his mouth reach one of Dean's tight nipple. He sucked hard on it, giving Dean no quarter or mercy. 

Dean threw his head back and moaned, his eyes growing dark with passion. "I'll not be arguing with that," he answered a touch shakily, his fingers curling tightly around Sam's hair, tugging hard when his entire body responded to Sam's provocative words and touches. 

Sliding from one nipple to the other, Sam gave the second one as much attention as he'd given the first. Slowly, he began rocking his body, his hips, offering pressure to Dean's firm arousal that was digging into his abdomen, leaking pre-cum. He couldn't help himself and slid lower, kissing his way straight down the center of Dean's chest to his abdomen, until he reached his tempting cock. He sucked just the tip into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, playing with the slit, and pulsing his tongue under the crown as he sucked repeatedly, groaning in delight as he tasted his lover once again.  


Dean's growl of frustration caught in his throat the instant Sam's wet mouth clamped around the swollen head of his aching cock. He found himself thrusting his hips up, then forced himself to lower back down to the mattress. The apology on the tip of his tongue was scattered to the seven seas as the things Sam did to him brought wave after wave of heat crashing through him. Unintelligible sounds broke from him. Grasping Sam's shoulder with his free hand, Dean practically gasped, "You'll have me babbling like a fool." He bit his lower lip to prevent just that, then, unable to prevent himself, he bit out an order, "Take all of me in your mouth."

Sam smiled around Dean's cock and began humming "Drunken Sailor," going all the way down on Dean's cock about every fourth beat, wrapping his large hand around Dean's shaft as he slid up and down it.  


"I'm the one who's drunk, drunk on you," Dean said between labored breaths. His eyes narrowed to mere slits as he watched Sam's mouth move over his hard flesh in a perfect rhythm. Already sensitive and throbbing, the vibrations from Sam's humming sharpened the intensity of Dean's pleasure. His world narrowed to the one thing, one person, who'd been missing all his life. His brother. His lover. His Sam. 

He studied Sam in an effort to keep his pleasure at bay, to keep from washing over the edge. His brother's eyes were as dark as the stormiest of seas, and yet they would light up each time Dean lost control and jerked or groaned loudly. His lips, so firm around his cock, were red and swollen, and Dean knew how quickly Sam could be made to smile, holding nothing back and wearing his heart on his sleeves. Aye, he'd lied to Dean on the trip from the Langtree to the Vengeance, and then again while Dean was recovering, yet even then, a part of Dean had realized something was amiss. It was part of why he'd pushed Sam for more, wanted to make love to him then, and why he'd spent countless hours reassuring himself that nothing was wrong, that Sam was merely rebuffing him because he was worried about his recovery. But now. Tonight. Right here. There were no more secrets between them, and he could see that Sam was holding nothing back. That he meant it when he said his place was at Dean's side.

A shudder passed through Dean. He was close, too close. "Want to be inside you. Want to show you that you're mine, as much as I'm yours," he said, his fingers biting into Sam's shoulder as he tried to regain a shred of his control. "Want my tongue inside your mouth, want you to hold tight to me as we ride out this storm."

Sam stopped humming and slowly pulled off of Dean's cock, swiping his tongue a last time over Dean's slit, enjoying the torturous groan he drew from his lover. "I know I'm yours," Sam said, gripping Dean's hand and placing Dean's palm on his chest, on the tattoo. He moved up Dean's body and looked down at him, his gaze flicking from Dean's lips to his jade green eyes. "I will ride out any storm with you, Dean, and I'll never, ever let you go. Take me...just..." He felt his face flush a bit. "I haven't lain with anyone since we last were together. You'll need to stretch me else it will be a few days 'fore we can do it again. And I don't want to wait a few days." Sam glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on a jar on the nightstand. Reaching for it, he popped off the lid and sniffed it.

"Lotion," Sam said, grinning, slipping the jar into Dean's hand. "Mmm, smells a bit like coconuts."

"With pineapple and rum, aye, I remember, 'tis your favorite juice." As soon as Sam rolled off and sat up, Dean followed, closing his arms around Sam and kissing him firmly. "I'll be gentle. I remember your lessons," he promised gruffly, his hand sliding off Sam's cheek and down to his shoulder, before he pushed him down onto the mattress and moved between his legs. 

Dipping his fingers into the jar, Dean waited for Sam to spread his legs wider, nodding when he lifted his hips slightly to give him better access. Pushing a pillow under Sam's ass, Dean started to tease Sam's hole, sliding his fingers over the sensitive puckered skin but making no move to penetrate him just yet.

Sam felt a fluttering in his stomach as Dean pushed him down and he spread his legs. How many times had he dreamed this? How many times had he awoken only to find it was nothing but a cruel lie? "Not...not too gentle. I...need to know this is real, that you are real, that I am where I belong. I don't want to awaken again without you there," Sam said softly, his gaze transfixed on his lover. He had felt a moment of nervousness, but seeing his captain, his lover, his Sebastion there for him, he wished this was their wedding night. He never wanted to stop making love to this man.

"Gentle is relative," Dean said, closing his eyes tight for a moment as he tried to rein in his need and do this right. "I wish..." His jaw throbbed. He swallowed, and opened his stinging eyes. "I wish more than anything, that _this_ was our first time," he said, his voice raw with emotion. What had happened could never be undone.

"It _is_ our first time," Sam said. "The first time that we are beholden to none but each other, the first time that starts the rest of our lives together." When Dean looked up at him, he could see the past still haunted him. "...Besides, if I didn't know you were so damned fine a lover, I might not have searched the world for you all these years," he teased.

"Is that right?" Dean gave a slight smile, knowing how prone to exaggeration his Sam was. "And here I thought it was you who taught me." Carefully, he started to push a finger inside Sam, easing it in and out with the aid of the slippery lotion.

Sam made a soft sound as Dean's finger invaded him, closing his eyes, a small smile on his lips. It was Dean touching him. His Dean. "Of course. I'm a very good teacher. And you, you are a very fast learner. Or you just like pearl-hunting." 

"I'm a pirate. Of course I like pearls. I like yours best," he rasped, "Nay, I only like yours," he said, slowly licking a path up along the length of Sam's flushed cock. He licked a few more times, pressing the flat of his tongue down along Sam's hard flesh, very aware that taking Sam's cock in his mouth would be the best way to distract Sam, but giving him as much as he could, kissing and humming now and again.

"Mine had best be the only ones you like," Sam said a touch possessively, arching up a little as Dean's hot breath blew across his cock, as his tongue painted paths up and down it, or as the humming vibrated him and he moaned in pleasure. "Nghh...yes. Nice. Mmmm," Sam murmured, lifting his head up occasionally so he could see Dean as Dean's mouth and tongue dance across his hard cock.

When Dean noticed the heat... the intensity in Sam's eyes, he realized it was caused by more than just sensations. That Sam was enjoying seeing the play of his mouth and tongue over his arousal. That even if he didn't take him in his mouth, he could give him something that he craved, while he continued to loosen him up. Lowering his mouth once more, this time he made sure it was about what Sam could see. He exaggerated and slowed down the motions and strokes of his tongue, and made more sounds as he kissed and pressed his lips against Sam. Moving lower, holding Sam's cock out of the way, he started to lick his balls, then mouthed one side, practically sucking it into his mouth. 

Sam wet his lips with his tongue as he watched Dean do more than just give attention to his cock, he played with it, made love to it in a way he had never done before. And when Dean went down on his balls, he felt the cum bead up faster and spill off the tip of his cock in small droplets. "Dean!" Sam breathed, arching his neck and back as Dean's mouth and tongue worked magic. "More..." he whispered, tilting his head back up, needing to watch his lover, needing to hear his lover.  


"Pearls." Grinning at Sam's chagrined look when he moved away from his balls to lick the tip of his cock, Dean did his best to make a show of it, before he went down to Sam's balls and once again noisily sucked on one side. His fingers were gliding in and out of Sam now, and the knowledge that he could take Sam soon drove Dean to want to do just that. Sam would never know what it took, how he fought against his nature, his impatience, to continue to tease and play, to arouse, when his mind was churning with images of himself buried deeply inside Sam, fucking him hard, taking back the years of loneliness. 

It didn't take much more of Dean's attentions to make Sam begin to writhe. "Oh, God, Dean, you're going to kill me!" Sam said as he let out with another loud moan of pleasure. He finally had to force himself to sit up, a difficult task with Dean working on trying to get him to give up _all_ his pearls in one fell swoop. He tugged lightly on Dean's hair. "I want...ungh...you in...me...nghhh...when I come," Sam managed to get out, with absolutely no help from Dean's enthusiastic bed play.

Dean managed to resist for just a little longer, half chuckling and half giving a pained groan when he finally allowed Sam to tug him up and off his cock. His eyes met Sam's and he was lost again. Cupping the back of Sam's head, he captured his mouth with a new hunger. Sharp. Sweet. Relentless. His tongue probed every corner of Sam's mouth, claiming him as his. Only when he ran out of breath did he allow any space between them.

Sam drew in a deep breath but his gaze was locked with Dean's. He couldn't help running his fingers through Dean's hair.  


Dean's gaze dropped to Sam's flushed and swollen lips. His handiwork. His Sam, only his. Running his thumb across Sam's lower lip, he kissed him once more, then pushed him down onto his back. He grabbed another large pillow, and shoved it under Sam's ass, then kneeling between his legs, he pulled Sam's legs up over his shoulders, biting his lip and giving a soft growl when his cock pressed flush against Sam's firm ass. "I've dreamed of this. So often. No storm. No battle. Nothing will stop me from seeing this through with you this time." 

"I've dreamt of you most every night. And aye, storms or battles, or you killed, or even Alfred interrupting with buttered bread nattering about nonsense. There were times I thought I was on a fool's quest trying to find you." Sam clenched his legs. "I am glad I'm a stubborn man. Take me. Make me yours again. For now and for always." His eyes burned with need even as he felt his hole flutter at the feel of Dean's leaking cock pressed up against it.

Sam's words thundered in Dean's mind. Pulling Sam closer, he positioned his cock. "Aye. For now and for always," Dean swore, pushing inside, his eyes locked with Sam's, communicating with him without words, soothing him, loving him, baring his soul to the one man who had the power to rip it from him.  


Once he was buried all the way inside Sam, his hips flush against Sam's ass, Dean gave a small moan and held his body still. One arm was already curled around Sam's thigh. With his free hand, he caressed Sam's other thigh, then swept it down to his hip, gripping it. Sam was so tight around his cock, so damned tight that Dean should pull out, should offer to loosen him up some more. But by the Gods, he wasn't sure he could do it.

Sam let nothing more than a small groan escape him as Dean filled him. He was still tight, but with Dean holding still, he could focus on trying to relax. From Dean's expression, he could see Dean was battling the urge to move. "A moment more, Love," he said, his voice gravelly. He reached out to Dean with one hand. When Dean released his hip and took his hand, he gripped it even as he gently clenched and relaxed his muscles, trying to get them to stretch a bit more. Sam finally gave a nod. "Slow at first, if you can?" he asked, putting all his faith in his lover and the control he knew that was excruciating. If Dean couldn't go slow he wasn't sure he'd care.

The tightening and loosening of Sam's muscles had Dean's cock throbbing. He was so hard and heavy, it hurt. And the message his body was receiving was completely at odds with Sam's whispered plea. "Slow." There was a pained laugh in there somewhere. Feeling Sam's fingers bite into his hand helped. It centered him. Made him focus on Sam and not on the needs of his own body. Dean started to move slowly, rotating his hips forward, and pulling slightly out. The urge to quickly push inside again, to take Sam hard, intensified and had him swearing. He took a few deep breaths and started to move again, biting his lower lip as the pressure around his cock increased and sent heat rushing through his veins. "Ah... Sam," Dean groaned, thrusting as slowly as he could. "What was the weather like in fair England?" he asked, a shudder passing through him as he forced himself not to buck.  


"The weather--" Sam blinked in confusion, then realized Dean was trying to distract himself. "Cold. Cold and rainy. Scotland was even worse," Sam said. "And the food. Terrible. Horrible. Almost worse than in America. Good whiskey though. Very good," Sam said, trying to make his mind work as Dean was keeping his pace slow but when he rolled his hips and hit Sam's prostate, Sam's eyes crossed and glazed over and whatever he was about to say was lost in the moment. When his brain started functioning again, he met Dean's gaze. "I can't wait any more. Do it. Take me. Fuck me like you want to."

Dean's hand clenched brutally tight over Sam's. "Don't say that, unless you mean it," he practically growled, his eyes demanding an answer.

Sam winced a little as Dean's grip ground his bones together. Maybe neither of them had had sex since Sam left, but Dean was, Sam remembered, rough at times. Sam also wouldn't be surprised if Dean yet held anger at Sam, for leaving him, and that this might well color his emotions as well. Taking a deep breath and knowing he might not be able to have sex again until the night they were formally joined if Dean was as rough as he might be, Sam gave a sharp nod. "Fuck me like you want to. I mean it. Whatever you dream of, however you want it. I'm yours."

A flare shot through Dean. The last remnants of his control snapped, intense hunger and desire taking its place. "You are mine," he ground out, gripping Sam's hand one last time before pulling his own away. Wrapping his arms around each of Sam's powerful thighs, he pulled him close and started to thrust his hips, hard and fast, as if he were finishing instead of only just beginning. His eyes blazed, burning into Sam's, reflecting the frenzy that had him in its grips. Twice. Sam had left him behind twice. Every nerve, every cell in his body needed him to prove to Sam, to the both of them, that Sam belonged with him. That he belonged to Dean. That he could never leave him again.

Driven by lust and emotions, Dean lost all sense of time. When a drop of sweat fell from his brow onto Sam's stomach, he blinked. The haze started to lift and he was back, right here with Sam, could hear him, his groans. Could see him, the way his hands clenched in the bed sheets, his partly pained expression. And yet not a single protest passed his brother's lips.

Suddenly stopping, Dean pulled Sam's legs off his shoulders and stretched out over him. "I love you," he said, as he entered him once more. "I have always loved you in one form or another. I will always love you," he vowed, finally bringing his mouth down over Sam's. This time, he fucked him much slower and with a building rhythm, knowing who he was with and that he had nothing more to prove. 

Sam was raw, perhaps even a bit bloody, but if this is what Dean needed, he would give it to him. Everything. Anything. He knew that Dean's desperate need would soften, given time, as it had softened before when they had been lovers. Then suddenly Dean stopped and he heard Dean's words. Smiling at Dean, he brushed his fingers over Dean's cheek, kissing him back as Dean began to pump into him, striking his prostate much more frequently now. Sam's hand slid from Dean's cheek to his shoulder and he could feel the slightly raised flesh of the birthmark that had cursed his brother. He shifted his hand until he had it placed perfectly over the birthmark. "Still the perfect fit, still the mark that shows you're mine. And I will love you until my last breath and beyond, wherever that beyond may be. Heaven. Hell. The bed of this blue ocean." Sam began to rock back harder against his lover, clenching and relaxing as he could, trying to make it the best it could possibly be. 

For the first time that he could remember, Dean didn't flinch when his birthmark was touched. "Don't ruin my reputation. There are some ignorant people out there who believe it is the mark of the devil," he said, making light of not only his father, but of the strangers who showed fear of his mark. "Let's keep it that way. Our secret."  


Smiling, Dean kissed Sam, tasting him, whispering to him between kisses. As the pressure built low in his belly, his motions became a little more frenzied again, his thrusts harder. But Sam was right there with him, echoing his groans, answering his thrusts with the clenching of his inner muscles, pulling at him each time Dean pulled back. The brass headboard started to hit the velvet padded wall, striking it with ever quickening regularity. Dean pushed himself up a little, his hand pressing into the mattress as he started to fuck Sam harder, grinding his hips between strokes.

Sam cherished every stroke. How lucky was he to have someone who loved him, who forgave him for following other paths that had kept them apart? Dean was not a forgiving man, Rufus had told him that once, and Sam knew it was true. And yet, for him, Dean had forgiven. Sam closed his eyes, smiling back against Dean's lips, listening to his whispers, feeling Dean's hot breath, Dean's tender touches, his possessive touches, the slide of sweat-slick skin against skin, the feel of him inside Sam. Sam's kisses grew more demanding and he increased the pace, locking his legs tightly around Dean and pulling him in deeply, pushing Dean faster and faster. "Love you, love you, love you," Sam murmured whenever their lips parted to suck down a breath. "Love you..." 

Sam's whispered declarations wound Dean up tighter, pushing him closer to the edge. As Sam rose up to meet Dean's every urgent thrust, as he pulled Dean deeper and tightened around him, as he demanded and accepted more, Dean knew, brother or not, Sam was meant for him. That no one else had or would ever do it for him, for his body or his soul. Sam was his everything, and without him, he'd been a shell of a man. Living half a life. 

Heat built low in Dean's gut, searing his insides. His thrusts became less calculated, his kisses, messy. He murmured Sam's name, then tore his mouth away. "Now. Come with me, now," he commanded, his head rearing back as he slammed into Sam harder, thrusting once, twice, and a third time, shouting his name as he came with a violent shudder.

Sam arched and bucked against Dean's thrusts, knowing they were both ready. It wasn't the filling heat as Dean came, it wasn't the brush across his prostate, it wasn't his command. It was the cry of his name by his lover. The agony, the ecstasy, the pure ownership and love that filled Dean's voice, that was what did it, that was what gave Sam the push and his balls tightened and he came hard, in unison with Dean. 

As with all days previous to finding Dean, tears filled his eyes after he came, but this time, it was not because he was alone and that it was his own hand that had brought him to completion. This time it was sheer joy, that which he had dreamed of but in his heart feared would never again come to pass. He was in Dean's arms, Dean was inside him, and Dean was looking at him in a way that made his heart want to simply stop in his chest. This was his place. This had always been his place. It would always be his place. With the man he loved. The Pirate King who had stolen his heart. 

THE END


End file.
